MARKI  KD,    NOT    MATED. 


MARRIED,  NOT  MATED; 


OR, 


HOW  THEY  LIVED 


ibc  aitir  Cjjracliiiiortoii  |j;i 


BY    ALICE 


ADTK  >K  or  "CLOVKRSOOK;  OR,  RECOLI.ECTIOSS  OK  ouit 

IS    THB    WEST,"    ETC. 


NEW  YORK  : 

DERBV     k    JACKSON    119    NASSAU    ST. 
1859. 


wordinir  to  Art  of 

DERBY    A    -ACKSON, 
ta  Ih.  Cl«rk'.  Offiee  of  ihe  U.  S.  Di.trict  Court,  for  the  South.ru  Dmtrict  of  N.w  Ywk. 


PS  J2Lfc5 
M3 


MAIM 


NATHAN.  Allow  me  to  relate  a  ta!e. 

SALADIN.  Why  not? 

I  always  was  a  friend  to  tales  well  told. 
NATHAN.  "  Well  told"  —  that's  not  precisely  my  affair. 

LESSINO. 


Dos  SKHASTIAN.  You  have  no  n.ot. 

FAUHICIO.  But  such  characters!  and  every  one  is  true  as  Truth: 

copied  right  off  from  nature. 
DON  SKBASTIAN.  Badly  done,  sir  Poet. 
FABKrcm.  Yet  consider,  'twas  at  a  sitting  :  a  single  sitting,  by  all 

the   saints!     I   will   do   better   when   I   have   those 

pistoles,  and  may  use  time. 

Lori  DF.  VEOA. 


M174949 


CONTENTS* 


PART    1. 

®l  o  o  b  s  i  b  t . 

CHAPTER    I. 

8*b-Crban  ;  Ancient  Friends ;  Young  Ladies  before  their  Morning 
Toilets  ;  Fanner  Henry  Graham ;  Progressive  Ideas  ;  Rash  Deter 
minations  ;  A  Family  at  Breakfast, 18 

CHAPTER    II. 

A  Sisterly  Discussion  ;  Mutual  Obligations  of  Parents  and  Children  ; 
Shins  of  Discontent  and  Revolt, 36 

CHAPTER    III. 

Mr.  Henry --graham  conducts  Miss  Annette  Furniss  to  Woodside  for 
a  Visit;  The  Inhabitants  of  Woodside;  Annette  Graham's  first  day 
there;  Housekeeper  Rachad, 46 

CHAPTER    IV. 

Clouds  and  Sunshine;  Management;  The  Debating  Society;  Wo 
men's  Rights;  Raphael's  Conquest, 67 


S  C  O  K  T  E  X  T  S . 

r*M 

CHAPTER    V. 

Woodside  by  Moonlight  ;  Ambitious  Scheming;  Non-Commitlalism  ; 
A  New  Character  ;  Domestic  Reform, 90 

CHAPTER    VI. 

A  Child's  Funeral ;  Bold  Advice  by  Rachael ;  Fruitless  Coquetry ; 
The  Housekeeper  Resigns  to  take  care  of  her  own  Establishment ; 
Annette  goes  home  Disengaged  ;  Father  and  Daughter  ;  Reminis 
cences  ;  A  Melancholy  Betrothal;  Annette  becomes  the  Mistress  of 
Woodside, .  .  .  .  .121 


PAR!     IT. 


CHAPTER    I. 

The  Sugar  Camp,  The  Dark  Angel  in  ths  Farmer's  Home;  Uncle 
Peter,  J.  T.  Throckmorton,  and  Aunt  Sally  Throckrnorton  • 
Sensible  Mrs.  Perrin, 151 

CHAPTER    II. 

The  Young  Orphans  become  Wards  of  their  Great  Relation;  A 
Glimpse  of  Woodside ;  Rachael  re-appears  as  Mrs.  Muggins ; 
Throckmorton  Hail ;  Rosalie  and  Orpha  produce  different  Impres 
sions,  .  .  ....  174 

CHAPTER    III. 

«  Dignity  of  Uncle  Peter;  He  becomes  111,  \nd  exhibits  some  of 
the  Weaknesses  of  Human  Nature ;  The  Neighbors  Prescribe ; 
Mrs.  Perriu's  Suspicions;  A  Great  Doctor  from  Town  ;  All  sorts  of 
Doctors  from  the  Country;  The  Domestic  Felicities  of  Mrs. 
Muggins;  Mix.  Graham  of  Woodside  "  watches ;"  Dr.  Stafford 
Graham  makes  an  Impression,  ........  194 


CONTENTS.  9 

MM 

CHAPTER    IV. 

Uncle  Peter's  Recovery;  Rose  and  Orpha  have  ah  Adventure;  Mrs. 
Perrin's  Cottage;  Visit  to  Woodside;  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Andrew  J. 
Muggins  at  Home ;  A  Discovery ;  Mr.  Furniss  and  Mrs.  Perrin 
hold  interesting  Conversations, 26T 

CHAPTER    V. 

Uncle  Peter  is  Uneasy  under  Obligations  ;  He  dreams  Dreams,  and 
sees  Visions  ;  He  gives  Examples  of  Heroism  ;  He  discharges  his 
Debt  to  Mrs.  Perrin  ;  He  is  again  in  the  hands  of  the  Doctors,  and 
tries  all  the  new  sorts, 82* 

CHAPTER    VI. 

Contrasted  Health  Prospects  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  P.  I.  T.  Throckmor 
ton ;  Mrs.  Muggins  causes  a  Sensation  at  the  Hall ;  Marriages  in 
Preparation ;  Aunt  Sally  at  Rest ;  Changes  at  Woodside ;  Uncle 
Peter's  new  Vocations  ;  For  better  or  for  worse ;  Conclusion,        .  889 


PART    I. 
W  O  O  D  S  I  D  E . 


WOODSIDE. 


CHAPTER   I. 

Ethe  loveliest  city  of  the  West  stands  an 
jld  and  curiously-fashioned  house,  in  the 
centre  of  an  acre  of  ground,  perhaps,  and  so 
thickly  surrounded  with  trees  as  to  prevent 
the  most  observant  passer-by  from  obtaining 
a  very  correct  notion  of  its  architecture  or 
dimensions.  Nevertheless,  half-hidden  as  it 
is,  there  is  something  about  the  place  that 
commands  attention,  and  whoever  looks  at  it 
once  is  likely  to  look  again. 

In  the  course  of  every  day  many  quick 
steps  are  slackened  as  the  sombre  shadows  of 
its  trees  fall  across  the  road ;  many  are  the 


14  M  A  B  R  I  E  D  ,     NOT     MATED. 

faces  that  press  close  against  the  high  black 
fence  which  encloses  the  grounds  ;  and  many 
the  fruitless  questions  concerning  its  inhabi 
tants  and  ownership. 

"Humph!"  says  the  speculator;  "what  a 
waste  of  capital  is  here  !"  and,  bobbing  his 
head  up  and  down,  and  over,  and  between 
the  palings,  he  divides  and  subdivides  and 
parcels  the  lot  into  many  lots,  and  so  hurries 
towards  some  thoroughfare,  summing  up  on 
the  ends  of  his  fingers  the  entire  valuation. 
When  the  sunset  shines  through  the  gnarled 
and  mossy  boughs  that  swing  against  the 
steep  gables,  the  maiden  and  the  lover  pause, 
thinking  how  pleasant  it  would  be  to  sit  on 
the  grassy  knoll  beneath  the  low-spreading 
apple-tree  and  watch  the  motes  dancing 
among  the  column-like  lights,  slanting  and 
beaming  down  the  openings. 

The  poet,  "  crazed  with  care,"  and  very 
possibly  "  crossed  in  hopeless  love,"  gliding  at 
twilight  toward  the  more  secluded  quarter  of 
the  town,  stops  as  he  sees  the  black  shadows 
crouching  among  the  tangled  shrubberies, 
half-expecting  to  behold  a  ghost  whitening 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.         15 

along  the  gathering  night;  and  so  the  stars 
come  out  as  he  stands  before  the  padlocked 
gate,  musing  some  rhyme  of  murders  done, 
of  hopes  broken,  or  of  hearts  withered;  and 
as  he  so  muses  he  looks  a  fit  inhabitant  of  the 
place,  for  the  moonlight  raining  along  the 
moss  of  the  roof,  and  the  winds  stirring 
through  the  bushy  tree-tops,  seem  his  proper- 
est  companions.  Roughly  he  shakes  the  iron 
stanchions  of  the  gate  as  the  shadows  beckon 
and  the  winds  call  to  him,  but  it  will  not  yield, 
and  the  group  of  boys  and  girls  from  the  as 
sembling  school,  who  have  been  standing  a 
little  way  off,  thinking  what  a  pretty  place 
for  hunting  the  glove  the  great  door-yard 
would  be,  hastily  gather  up  hoops  arid  balls 
and  run  from  the  madman  as  fast  as  they  can. 
Sometimes,  among  the  cobwebs  that  hang 
at  the  windows,  the  thin  sallow  face  of  an  old 
man  may  be  seen,  and  once  in  a  while,  feeling 
his  way  with  a  wooden  staff,  he  bends  along 
the  narrow  and  crooked  path,  over  which  the 
grass  has  quite  grown  together  here  and  there, 
though  tiny  spots  of  gravel,  at  wide  distances, 
attest  that  it  was  once  a  broad  avenue;  slowly 


16  M  A  B  E,  I  E  D  ,      NOT     MATED. 

he  bends  his  way  to  the  street  gate,  undoes  the 
padlock,  and  goes  toward  an  old  but  substan 
tial  and  better  kept  house  than  his  own,  where 
lives  a  rich  miserly  man,  using  and  abusing, 
and  augmenting,  and  squandering  the  wealth 
which  in  truth  belongs  to  his  mother — a  poor 
half-crazed  old  woman,  whom  he  keeps  im 
prisoned  in  his  garret,  scantily  fed  and  cloth 
ed,  as  report  says,  and  suffered  to  see  no  visit 
ors,  except  the  old  man  just  described,  who 
once  or  twice  in  the  year,  perhaps,  is  permitted 
to  pass  an  hour  or  more  with  the  almost  imbe 
cile  prisoner  whom  he  remembers  as  a  gay- 
hearted  and  pretty  young  woman,  and  with 
those  black  glittering  eyes  of  his,  he  can  see, 
even  now,  traces  of  lost  beauty  beneath  the 
grey  locks  that  straggle  down  from  hei  dis 
hevelled  nightcap.  In  their  youth  they  were 
friends  and  neighbors,  and  so  indeed  they  are 
still,  but  while  the  intellect  of  the  old  man 
is  as  clear  as  it  ever  was,  that  of  the  woman 
seems  to  have  gathered  mildew,  and  to  shine 
out  only  now  and  then  imperfectly  through  its 
mouldy  crust.  He  calls  her  "Lizy,"  yet,  when 
he  takes  her  withered  hand,  and  in  his  own 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.         17 

stronger  palm  crushes  down  the  great  blue 
veins  forking  and  zigzaging  from  the  knuckles 
to  the  wrist,  crushes  them  in  the  heartiness 
of  his  grasp,  till  the  purple  spreads  to  the 
finger-ends.  And  she,  with  what  seems  a 
mocking  echo  of  the  joyish  tones  of  fifty  years 
ago,  addresses  her  friend  as  "  Dicky,"  and  half 
pettishly  accuses  him  of  forgetfulness  of  old 
friendship.  But  not  so :  Richard  Furniss  vis 
its  the  woman  as  often  as  he  dares,  for  he  is  a 
humble  man,  and  shrinks  from  contact  with 
humanity,  really  believing  himself  undeserv 
ing  of  any  notice  or  regard  from  the  world 
from  which  he  has  withdrawn  himself. 

With  Ki chard  Furniss  alone,  however,  as  he 
lived  in  the  desolate  old  house  I  have  written 
of,  only  now  and  then  creeping  out  into  the  sun, 
has  our  story  much  to  do.  The  man  is  slightly 
changed  since  the  sunrise  of  a  bright  May 
morning  slanted  through  his  curtainless  win 
dow  eight  or  ten  years  ago.  His  iron-grey 
hair  hangs  lower  on  his  shoulders — for  no  one 
trims  it  now — and  the  weight  of  these  addi 
tional  years  has  bent  him  earthward  somewhat 
more,  perhaps,  though  his  black  eyes  glitter 


18         MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

with  the  same  intense  light,  and  he  glides  and 
slips  about  his  possessions  as  though  unworthy 
of  them,  just  as  he  was  wont.  On  the  steep 
gables  the  mosses  are  thicker  and  greener  now 
than  then,  the  tree-tops  a  little  heavier,  and 
the  general  air  of  neglect  more  immediately 
obvious,  but  the  casual  observer  would  see  not 
much  alteration  in  either  man  or  dwelling  since 
that  May  morning.  And  beautiful  exceedingly 
was  the  opening  day,  the  very  breathing  of  the 
cool  air  a  luxury.  With  the  first  stir  and  hum 
of  the  great  city  the  windows  of  the  old  house 
were  thrown  up,  the  blue  smoke  went  curling 
away  from  the  low  kitchen  chimney,  while  in 
and  out  the  others  dipped  and  rose  the  swal 
lows,  speckling  the  air  about  the  roof  with 
their  grey  bosoms  and  black  wings.  On  the 
tops  of  the  dormer-windows  sat  rows  of  plump 
pigeons,  waiting  for  the  sunrise,  and  close 
against  the  double  outer  door  lay  a  great 
w^atch-dog,  his  head  between  his  fore  paws, 
and  his  hungry-looking  eyes  wide  open. 

"Surly,  Surly!"  called  a  sweet  voice  from 
the  window  above,  as  the  dog  rose  and  growl 
ed,  shaking  the  chain  that  was  attached  to 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.         19 

the  leather  strap  about  his  nect,  with  which 
his  freedom  was  sometimes  restricted,  though 
at  the  time  mentioned  it  hung  loose  and  drag 
ged  after  him  as  he  advanced  a  few  steps  down 
the  gravelled  walk,  his  growl  softening  to  a 
whine,  and  the  first  belligerent  aspect  chang 
ing  to  one  of  welcome. 

"  There,  Annette !"  said  the  voice  again, 
"  how  late  we  are  this  morning !  father  will 
scold.  Oh,  I  am  sorry  I  slept  so  long,  for  see, 
the  man  who  brings  our  butter  is  waiting  at 
the  gate,  and  I  can't  go  to  unlock  it  these  ten 
minutes — just  see  my  hair!"  and  she  smooth 
ed  the  heavy  brown  waves  which  had  fallen 
in  careless  grace  about  her  neck  and  shoul 
ders,  turning  anxiously,  the  while,  from  the 
window  to  the  bed,  the  pillow  of  which  was 
still  pressed  by  a  fairer  cheek  than  her  own. 
A  merry  ringing  laugh  was  the  only  answer  the 
distressed  questioner  at  first  received,  and  not 
till  she  had  repeated  the  exclamation,  u  Oh  !  J 
am  so  sorry  !"  did  the  person  addressed  as  An 
nette  lift  herself  on  her  elbow  and  look  stead 
ily  from  the  window.  An  arch  smile  curved 
her  thin  lips  as  she  did  so,  and  through  the 


20        MAKRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

tangles  of  her  black  hair  gleamed  the  red  that 
blushed  along  her  cheek,  as  she  said  hurriedly 
and  in  an  under  tone,  "  Nelly,  dear,  run  down 
and  open  the  gate,  never  mind  your  hair,  it 
really  makes  you  look  charming,  falling  negli 
gently  as  it  does."  And  seeing  that  the  girl 
hesitated,  at  the  same  time  adjusting  the  open 
morning  gown  with  some  precision,  she  added 
impatiently,  "Never  mind,  Nell,  the  fellow 
wrill  be  tired  to  death,  and  father  too,  will  be 
terribly  vexed ;  there's  my  shawl,  just  throw 
it  round  your  shoulders  and  never  mind  !" 

"Oh!  must  I  go  this  way?"  and  she  pushed 
away  her  fallen  hair,  thrust  her  little  bare  feet 
into  a  pair  of  slippers,  and  gathering  the  shawl 
her  sister  had  mentioned  about  her  throat,  de 
scended  the  stairs  without  more  ado. 

No  sooner  was  she  gone  than  Annette,  who 
had  till  then  lingered  indolently  with  her  pil 
low,  dashed  aside  the  counterpane  and  hasten 
ing  to  the  window  called,  "  Nell !  ask  the 
young  man  to  come  in,  and  be  sure  you  don't 
allow  him  to  go  away  until  I  come  down ;  I 
have  an  especial  and  important  object  in 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.         21 

There  was  a  puzzled  and  inquiring  expres 
sion  in  the  face  of  Nelly  for  a  moment,  but 
simply  nodding  assent,  she  took  up  the  chain 
which  Surly  was  dragging  after  him,  and 
skipped  down  the  walk  by  his  side,  calling 
him  "poor  fellow"  and  "pretty  Surly,"  as  she 
went;  though  only  'his  mistress  could  have 
discovered  his  beauty,  for  surely  so  long- 
legged,  slabsided  and  altogether  graceless  a 
creature  never  tended  another  door.  But, 
"poor  fellow,"  as  the  girl  might  well  call  him, 
he  could  not  help  his  natural  defects,  nor  the 
scanty  feeding  that  had  flattened  him  to  his 
present  narrow  dimensions. 

""Why,  Surly,  old  fellow,'  good  morning." 
And  the  young  man  who  had  been  so  long 
standing  before  the  gate,  sat  down  from  his 
arm  the  basket  covered  with  dewy  leaves,  and 
reaching  through  the  bars  took  the  paw  of  the 
dog  in  his  large  clumsy  hand  and  shook  it 
heartily,  without  as  yet  having  given  any 
salutation  at  all  to  the  young  woman. 

"  Really,  Mr.  Graham,"  she  began,  holding 
her  shawl  together  with  one  hand,  while  she 


22         MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

unfastened  the  rusty  padlock  with  the  other, 
"really,  I  am  quite  ashamed." 

"  Not  at  all,  Miss,"  he  interrupted,  before  she 
proceeded  further  -with  an  apology,  "I  would 
as  lives  stand  here  as  not:  is  your  father  well, 
Miss?" 

By  this  time  the  gate  was  open  and  Mr. 
Graham,  taking  up  his  basket,  followed,  rather 
than  accompanied,  Nelly  into  the  house. 

"Well,  father,  you  have  a  nice  fire  for  me," 
she  said,  "  and  I  shall  be  very  smart  to  make 
up  for  lost  time.  Have  you  forgotten  Mr. 
Graham?"  she  added,  seeing  that  he  did  not 
notice  the  young  man  who  stood  blushing  and 
stepping  with  one  foot  and  the  other  in  pain 
ful  embarrassment. 

A  dry  nod  and  an  unsmiling  glance  were 
the  only  results  of  this  appeal,  and  the  young 
man,  aware  of  the  dubious  welcome,  hastened 
to  pull  the  green  leaves  from  his  basket  and 
take  thence  the  golden  rolls  of  butter  which 
it  was  his  weekly  errand  to  bring. 

"Seems  to  me,  Nell,"  said  the  old  man,  pok 
ing  in  the  ashes  with  his  cane,  "  that  you  use 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.         23 

more  butter  than  there  is  any  need  of;"  and 
he  added  after  a  moment,  "your  mother  did  n't 
do  so,  that 's  all ;"  and  he  resumed  his  poking 
in  the  ashes. 

"  I  am  afraid  father  will  never  be  able  to 
teach  me  the  economy  which  it  is  perhaps 
needful  for  me  to  practise,"  said  Nelly,  blush 
ing  confusedly  that  he  should  have  betrayed 
so  calculating  a  spirit,  and  taking  as  much 
blame  to  herself  as  she  could,  that  the  less 
might  attach  to  him. 

"What's  that?"  resumed  the  old  man  in  a 
voice  somewhat  mollified,  as  he  saw  the  farmer 
take  from  his  basket  a  piece  of  meat  which  he 
had  brought  from  home. 

"A  morsel  for  Surly,"  answered  Graham, 
and  he  continued,  apologetically,  though  he 
knew  the  dog  was  half  starved,  "  I  thought  it 
better  than  your  city  veal." 

Richard  Furniss  moved  uneasily,  and  looked 
wistfully  after  the  young  farmer,  as  he  with 
drew,  carrying  his  basket,  and  the  hungry  dog 
the  gift  which  was  to  propitiate  his  friendship 
as  well  as  satisfy  his  appetite.  He  turned  now 
from  the  fire-place,  to  assist  in  preparations  for 


24         M  A  K  R  i  E  j> ,    NOT    MATED. 

breakfast,  and  holding  the  loosened  parts  of  a 
worn-out  coffee-mill  close  together  with  one 
hand  and  between  his  knees,  with  the  other 
turned  the  crank  until  the  grains  were  ground, 
and  then  set  the  scant  drawing  to  boil  in  a  tin 
coffee-pot  which  had  neither  lid  nor  handle, 
and  was  proceeding  to  set  the  table,  when  his 
daughters  entered  the  room  —  having  been 
engaged  longer  than  they  were  accustomed  to 
be  with  their  toilets.  "Humph,"  he  said, 
eyeing  them  with  severity,  "you  are  not 
much  like  your  mother;  she  would  have 
been  at  work  while  you  have  been  decking 
yourselves  off  with  furbelows."  And  he 
added  with  what  seemed  real  emotion:  "I 
wish,  girls,  you  would  not  dress  so  fine." 

"There,  father!"  said  Kelly,  taking  the 
table-cloth  from  his  tremulous  hands,  and 
sighing,  as  she  arranged  the  cracked  and 
broken  ware  so  as  to  conceal  the  rents  and 
patches. 

"  A  most  singular  old  gentleman !"  exclaim 
ed  Annette,  laughing,  as,  half  blind  with 
tears,  the  father  stumbled  out  of  the  house. 

"Oh,  Netty,  Netty!"  said  Nelly;  and  she 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.         25 

clasped   her   little  hands  together  and  stood 
looking  into  the  fire. 

"Why,  my  fair  sister,  have  I  shocked  you?" 
resumed  the  young  beauty,  laying  her  hand 
on  the  arm  of  her  sister  in  mock  tenderness;  "I 
spoke  no  treason;  I  simply  said  our  honored 
father  was  a  l  strange  gentleman,'  and  I  repeat 
it.  Would  to  heaven,"  she  continued  more 
earnestly,  "I  had  not  a  drop  of  the  Fnrniss 
blood  in  my  veins." 

"Oh!  Netty,  Netty!"  reiterated  the  sister; 
and,  unlocking  her  hands,  she  went  quietly 
about  her  work  again. 

"I  understand  your  reproof;  perhaps  I 
deserve  it,"  spoke  Annette,  in  a  cold  calm 
tone,  that  indicated  no  self-condemnation; 
"but,  Nell,  good  and  pure  as  you  are,  you 
must  feel  sometimes  that  you  are  cursed  with 
a  curse." 

There  was  no  reply,  and  she  continued :  tl  I 
felt  it,  when  I  was  young,  a.nd  —  no,  not  as 
good  as  you,  but  better  than  I  am  now." 

"Do  not  call  me  good;  if  you  saw  my 
heart  —  if  you  knew  what  my  thoughts  are, 
often,  you  would  draw  yourself  away  from  me 


26         MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

in  fear  of  contamination,  for,  Netty,  I  tremble 
to  confess  it,  but  I  sometimes  reproach  not 
only  the  living,  but  the  dead;"  and  her  lip 
trembled,  as  she  spoke. 

"  Wickedness,  as  I  understand  it,"  replied 
Annette,  "  is  the  deliberate  and  premeditated 
working  of  evil  —  not  any  honest  rebellion 
against  unnatural  constraint.  The  lark  sings, 
because  of  the  gift  God  has  given  it ;  if  it  were 
mewed  up  with  the  owl,  it  would  pine  and 
die.  What  business  has  the  lamb  in  the  eyry 
of  the  eagle  ?  And  if  any  circumstance,  or 
combination  of  circumstances,  place  it  there,  I 
hold  that  it  is  not  bound  to  remain  in  the  posi 
tion,  either  to  be  preyed  upon,  or  scorched  to 
death  in  the  sun,  if  by  any  means  it  can  pos 
sibly  let  itself  down." 

.Nelly  shook  her  head  slowly  and  sadly 
"  Talk  as  you  may,  but  you  cannot  cease  all 
self-sacrifice,  and  be  satisfied.  You  cannot 
turn  aside  from  the  path  which  those  who  love 
you  have  marked  out  for  you,  with  a  con 
sciousness  of  rectitude.  I  cannot." 

"I  live,"  replied  Annette,  "but  for  the 
simple  sense  of  living ;  I  have  small  reason  to 


MAKKIED,    NOT    MATED.         27 

be  thankful  at  any  time ;  certainly  I  feel  no 
gratitude  to  my  parents ;  it  was  not  for  my 
pleasure  they  brought  me  here.  I  have  grown 
to  womanhood  because  my  constitution  has 
resisted  the  wear  and  tear  to  which  it  has  been 
wrongfully  subjected,  and  not  because  of  any 
fostering  care  bestowed  on  me.  I  am  warpt 
from  the  first  goodness  and  purity  of  my 
nature ;  my  life  has  been  forcibly  turned 
from  its  bent ;  when  I  would  have  gone  up, 
I  was  pressed  down ;  when  I  pined  for  know 
ledge,  I  was  kept  ignorant :  and  now,"  she 
added, 

"  I  they  planted  in  the  desert 
Will  o'ersweep  them  with  my  sands  !" 

"All  this,  Netty,  will  not  avail  to  bring  you 
peace." 

"  Then  you  think  I  am  bound  to  surrender 
all  my  hopes  and  inclinations  to  the  will  of 
one  to  whom  I  owe  nothing;  to  take  up  a 
cross  that  must  shortly  crush  me  into  the 
grave.  No,  you  may  do  this  if  you  choose, 
but  from  this  day  I  am  bound  to  live  after  my 
own  fashion." 

"Well,"   replied   Nelly;    and   the   simple 


28         MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

word  seemed  to  say  that  from  that  hour  she 
would  try  to  consecrate  herself  to  duty. 

There  was  a  long  silence  ;  then  Annette  fell 
to  singing,  as  if  so  happy  in  her  late  resolve 
that  she  could  not  help  exultation.  Presently, 
however,  she  said,  abruptly,  as  she  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  form  of  the  young  farmer  reap- 
proaching  the  door  of  the  kitchen,  along  the 
grounds :  "  Nell,  how  would  you  like  Henry 
Graham  for  a  brother?  —  I  am  resolved  to 
marry  him." 

"  Marry  Henry  Graham !  What  do  you 
mean?" 

"  Precisely  what  I  say." 

""Why,  you  have  scarcely  spoken  to  him  — 
when  did  he  ask  you  ?" 

"  Ah,  my  dear  sister,"  said  Annette,  laugh 
ing,  "you  are  much  younger  than  I  am. 
True,  I  have  scarcely  spoken  with  him,  and  I 
do  n't  suppose  he  ever  thought  of  marrying 
me ;  but  new  influences  produce  new  feelings: 
perhaps  he  will  ask  me." 

"  Hush  !"  and  Nelly  lifted  up  her  hand  and 
smiled,  as  she  said,  "  Shall  I  invite  him  to  sit 
in  the  parlor  ?' 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.        29 

"  Oh,  no,  it  would  only  disconcert  him, 
and  hinder  the  progress  of  our  acquaintance  ; 
besides,  our  preparation  of  breakfast  will  serve 
to  entertain  him." 

"Ah,  Mr.  Graham!"  and  Annette  shook 
hands  writh  him,  in  her  most  cordial  and 
winning  manner;  "I  hope  I  have  not 
detained  you  against  any  pressing  call  upon 
your  time." 

"  Oh,  no,  Miss ;  I  am  very  glad  if  I  can 
serve  you  in  any  way ;  any  commands  of 
yours  would  flatter  me." 

lie  blushed  as  he  spoke,  and  rapidly  changed 
his  market-basket  from  one  hand  to  the 
other. 

Annette  busied  herself  about  the  table  till 
he  recovered  from  the  confusion  into  which 
tliis  effort  at  politeness  had  thrown  him,  and 
then  artfully  led  the  conversation  into  chan 
nels  calculated  to  place  him  at  ease. 

For  the  time  she  seemed  to  forget  that  their 
slight  acquaintance  should  impose  any  limits 
to  the  subjects  or  familiarity  of  their  discus 
sion,  and  asked  him  a  great  many  direct  ques 
tions,  as  how  far  he  lived  from  the  city,  how 


30        MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

much  land  he  owned,  what  was  its  value,  and 
whether  he  was  not  prospectively  rich. 

By  this,  and  the  preparation  of  breakfast, 
Mr.  Henry  Graham  was  placed  as  much  at  his 
ease  as  it  was  or  is  possible  for  an  inferior 
creature  to  be  with  a  superior  one  ;  for  though 
two,  so  differing,  may  sometimes  stand  on  the 
same  elevation,  and  may  seem  to  be  not  alto 
gether  ill-matched,  the  lower  cannot  escape 
the  consciousness  that  the  higher  can  over 
master  and  crush  and  annihilate  as  he  will. 

The  question  whether  Mr.  Graham  was  not 
likely  to  be  the  possessor  of  wealth,  drew  out 
the  information  that  his  brother  Stafford,  a 
surgeon  then  in  the  army,  shared  with  him 
his  prospects. 

"  Older  or  younger  than  you  ?"  asked  An 
nette,  carelessly,  and  in  an  undertone  adding 
"  Stafford  :  what  a  pretty  name !" 

The  young  man  colored  and  did  not  at  once 
reply,  evincing  clearly  enough,  to  the  quick 
eyes  of  Annette,  that  he  was  nettled  by  the 
greater  interest  she  betrayed  in  Stafford. 

"  Have  you  been  separated  long  ?"  she  re 
sumed,  as  if  not  observing  his  silence. 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.         31 

"  Three  years,"  he  answered;  g  lancing  at  the 
window,  and  adding  something  about  the 
beauty  of  the  day. 

"  Lovely,  is  n't  it  ?  Do  you  expect  your 
brother  home  soon  ?" 

"  We  are  not  in  correspondence.  My 
mother,  I  believe,  receives  letters  from  him 
sometimes." 

"Not  in  correspondence !" 

"No,  we  are  not  friends ;"  and  Mr.  Graham 
compressed  his  lips,  and  betrayed  in  his  man 
ner  a  positive  unwillingness  to  pursue  the  con 
versation. 

"Shall  I  call  father  to  breakfast?"  asked 
Nelly,  interrupting  a  silence  that  even  to 
Annette  was  embarrassing;  and  without  wait 
ing  a  reply  she  withdrew  upon  the  errand 
thus  suggested. 

The  house  was  situated  about  the  middle  of 
the  grounds,  in  the  rear  of  which  the  trees 
grew  thicker  than  elsewhere  ;  and  toward  a 
clump  of  elms  whose  pendulous  boughs  hung 
low,  the  girl  bent  her  steps,  looking  unusually 
ead  and  thoughtful. 

"  Come,   father,"  she  said,  speaking  mor* 


32         MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

cheerfully  than  she  felt,  as,  parting  the  roses 
and  lilacs  that  hedged  in  a  solitary  grave,  she 
found  him,  where  she  expected,  sitting  by 
the  head-stone,  a  low  pillar  of  marble. 

In  a  few  moments  the  family  and  their  guest 
are  seated  together  at  their  meagre  break 
fast.  Richard  Furniss  is  at  an  inconvenient 
distance  from  the  table,  holding  a  crust  in  one 
hand,  from  which  lie  occasionally  breaks  a 
small  piece,  and  deliberately  places  it  within 
his  lips.  When  he  is  offered  a  fresh  slice,  he 
shakes  his  head  mournfully  and  replies,  "It  is 
no  matter  about  me."  His  dress  is  old  and 
shabby,  and  seems  to  have  been  carelessly 
l>ut  on ;  his  countenance  evinces  unrest  and 
melancholy,  and  his  whole  bearing  a  mingling 
of  diffidence  and  ill-humor.  Henry  Graham 
looks  as  if  not  more  than  twenty,  though  he  is 
certainly  twenty-five;  he  is  slender  and  tall, 
with  a  roseate  complexion,  and  little  twink 
ling  blue  eyes.  He  reminds  one,  in  his  man 
ner,  of  a  stray  animal  amid  a  new  flock,  not 
quite  assured  of  his  position.  His  hair  is  thin 
and  long,  in  color  a  sandy  yellow ;  his  beard 
is  red ;  and  in  his  habitual  awkwardness  there 


MAKKIED,    NOT    MATED.        33 

mingles  occasionally  the  gallantry  and  polite 
ness  of  gentlemanly  blood,  liis  father  having 
been  a  man  of  elegant  breeding  and  scholarly 
attainments.  Of  his  mother  we  shall  have 
occasion  to  speak  hereafter.  Annette  is  rather 
above  the  ordinary  height  of  women :  a  bru 
nette,  with  eyes  and  hair  black  as  the  night. 
The  expression  of  the  eyes  is  commonly  soft, 
but  when  aroused  by  passion,  they  have  some 
thing  of  the  glitter  that  makes  one  distrustful, 
almost  afraid.  She  is  not  stout,  nor  yet  very 
thin;  her  countenance,  in  repose,  is  quietly  sad, 
and  her  whole  manner  subdued ;  yet  you  feel 
when  you  have  once  conversed  with  her,  that 
somewhere  in  her  nature  there  is  pride,  ambi 
tion,  and  smothered  energy  and  purpose.  One 
hour  her  smile  wins  you,  and  you  can  tell  her 
your  simplest  joys  and  sorrows ;  say  you  love 
her,  perhaps;  but  the  next  there  is  a  sea  of 
ice  between  you,  and  this  without  her  speak 
ing  an  unkind  word,  or  having  withdrawn  one 
beam  of  her  unfaltering  smile.  She  is  no 
longer  young,  as  her  conversation  has  already 
revealed,  but  she  is  .as  handsome,  perhaps,  as 
she  ever  was ;  something  from  the  fullness  of 
2* 


34:  M  A  R  R  I  E  P  ,      NOT      MATED. 

the  cheek  and  the  roundness  of  the  shoulder 
may  be  missed,  but  in  the  higher  expression 
of  beauty  she  is  a  gainer  by  her  years. 

Mr.  Furniss  declines  the  second  cup  of  cof 
fee,  a  beverage  of  which  he  is  exceedingly 
fond ;  he  does  not  know  that  it  would  make 
him  live  any  longer,  he  says ;  but  in  fact  he 
thinks  himself  unworthy  of  having  more,  and 
feels  that  he  is  saving  a  little  in  refusing 
it.  Sometimes  Annette  would  have  pressed  it 
upon  him  :  not  so  to-day. 

When  Mr.  Graham  invites  him  to  visit 
Woodside,  his  country  place,  he  shakes  his 
head  sorrowfully,  replying  that  he  seldom 
goes  from  home  ;  nobody  wishes  to  see  him  ; 
and  so,  with  moisture  in  his  eyes,  he  withdraws 
from  the  house,  and  is  presently  sitting  by 
the  lonely  grave  again. 

How  we  cling  to  the  dust,  frail  and  fading 
and  perishing  as  it  is  !  She  who  sleeps  in  that 
narrow  and  obscure  grave  has,  for  him,  drawn 
down  after  her  all  the  stars  of  heaven.  Poor 
old  man !  blame  him  not  too  hastily ;  there 
went  out  the  love  that  made  him  forget  his 
grey  hairs ;  there  he  first  learned  how  far 


K  A  K  K  I  E  D  ,      NOT     M  A  T  S  D  .  3& 

away  from  happiness  he  had  gone  in  search  of 
it ;  and  he  has  no  strength  and  no  courage  to 
retrace  his  steps. 

Through  adversity  some  persons  become 
pure,  and,  as  it  were,  kiss  the  hand  that  chas 
tises  ;  others  go  wandering  and  wailing  like 
echoes  out  of  ruins ;  and  others  lift  their  eyes 
in  reproof  when  the  cloud  comes  over  them, 
not  against  God,  as  they  say,  but  Fate. 


30        liARRijiD,    NOT    MATED. 


CHAPTER  II. 

£(•  "T~YTELL,  Xelly,  what  are  you  thinking 
»  »  of  'C  asked  Annette  Furniss,  as  the 
sisters  sat  together  in  their  scantily -fnrnished 
chamber,  a  week  after  the  scene  described  in 
the  preceding  chapter.  The  evening  was  deep 
ening,  and  she  closed  the  volume  from  which 
she  had  been  reading, —  one  of  those  exhibi 
tions  of  shallow  but  plausible  skepticism  with 
which  the  weak  and  the  perverse  seek  so  fre 
quently  to  lull  the  stings  of  conscience, —  and 
as  she  moved  listlessly  from  the  window  to  the 
bedside,  to  bury  her  face  in  ttie  pillows, 
repeated,  "  I  say,  what  are  you  thinking  of? 
"Why  don't  you  speak  C 

"  Oh,  I  do  n't   know,"  answered   the   girl, 
who  remained  at  the  window,  one  cheek  rest- 


MAKKIED,    NOT    MATED.         37 

ing  on  her  hand,  and  hei  attention  divided 
between  the  western  clouds,  and  Surly,  who 
lay  below. 

"  Do  say  something,"  said  Annette,  petu 
lantly  ;  "do,  for  charity's  sake;  I  can't  en 
dure  my  own  thoughts  any  longer.'7 

"  Come  and  sit  by  me  :  there  was  never  a 
sweeter  sunset ;"  and  the  placid  expression  of 
Xelly's  face  contrasted  strangely  with  the 
worn  and  restless  appearance  of  Annette's,  as, 
suddenly  sitting  upright,  she  gazed  upon  her 
fixedly.  In  a  moment  the  troubled  air  grew 
sorrowful,  and  she  said  reproachfully,  but  not 
Bitterly,  "  And  so  you  have  nothing  to  say  to 
me  ;  well  P 

••  Xetty,  my  dear  sister !"  and  Xelly  stooped 
and  kissed  her,  "  I  do  n't  know  what  to  say 
that  will  comfort  you  ;"  and,  more  playfully, 
she  continued,  "  the  patient  cannot  expect  a 
cure  so  Ions:  as  she  conceals  her  real  disease 

O 

from  the  physician.     And  Xetty,  you  know 
that  you  have  lately  withdrawn  the  little  con 
fidence  you  ever  gave  me,  and  when  we  talk 
I  feel  that  it  is  across  some  great  gulf." 
Tears  gathered  slowly  to  the  eyes  of  An 


38  MARRIED,      NOT     MATED. 

nette,  and  dropped  silently  off  the  long  lashes, 
for  she  did  not  wipe  them;  and  Nelly  felt 
them  on  her  face  when,  laying  her  head  on 
her  sister's  knees,  she  said,  "  I  do  not  blame 
you  if  you  cannot  mate  yourself  with  me,  you 
are  so  much  older  and  wiser  than  I;"  and, 
after  a  slight  pause,  listening  toward  the 
adjoining  chamber,  "What's  that?" 

Annette  turned  her  head  in  the  direction 
indicated,  and  said  in  her  cold  and  calm  tone, 
"  'Tis  father,  counting  his  money." 

There  was  a  long  silence,  interrupted  only 
by  the  clinking  of  the  silver.  At  length  An 
nette,  placing  her  hand  on  the  head  of  her 
sister,  said,  "  Nelly,  you  think  me  a  strange 
creature,  and  so  I  am,  neither  fit  to  live  nor 
die ;  but  if  you  knew  the  influences  that  have 
made  me  so  !  Oh,  Nelly,  you  do  know  some 
of  them,  but  you  do  not  know  all  the  hard 
ships,  and  trials,  and  wrongs,  and  slights,  that 
have  at  last  crushed  out  the  little  good  that 
was  long  ago  in  my  nature  ;  you  know  how 
hard  your  life  has  been,  but  I  have  lived  lon 
ger,  twelve  years  longer  than  you,  and  my 
childhood  and  girlhood  have  left  scarcely  a 


MAKKIED,    NOT    MATED.         39 

pleasant  memory.  Our  parents,  as  you  know, 
were  never  what  is  termed  poor  ;  nevertheless, 
I  have  suffered  from  hunger,  and  cold,  and 
nakedness." 

"  Ah,  Netty,"  answered  the  sister,  "  do  you 
not  fancy  the  deprivations  incident  to  real 
poverty  ?" 

"No,  I  have  slept  in  a  garret  so  open  that 
the  snows  and  winds  blew  over  me,  and  all 
the  while  worked  like  a  bought  slave.  I  have 
thirsted  for  knowledge,  and  education  has 
been  denied  me ;  I  have  wished  for  society, 
and  am  shut  out  from  it  by  my  ignorance  and 
ill-breeding,  even  more  than  by  all  other  pre 
sent  restraints.  If  these  things  had  been  or 
were  from  necessity,  I  would  not  complain ; 
but  to  be  mewed  up  in  a  ruin,  and  waste,  and 
die  here,  and  for  no  earthly  good  " 

She  stopped  suddenly,  pushed  her  hair  from 
her  forehead,  and,  after  a  moment,  resumed  : 
"  The  great  blight  of  my  life,  Nelly,  I  have 
not  spoken  of." 

Her  sister  looked  as  if  startled  with  a  new 
apprehension. 

"  Oh,  'tis  nothing,"  she  went  on,  smiling, 


40  M  A  K  R  I  E  D  ,      NOT     MATED. 

"  My  heart  is  broken,  that  is  all ;  and  if  I 
could  have  chosen  my  own  path  of  life,  it 
would  not  have  been.  Never  mind,  I  do  not 
like  to  talk  about  it.  But,  never  be  so  foolish 
as  to  believe,  no  matter  upon  what  grounds 
that  any  man  whose  birth  and  education  are 
superior  to  yours,  will  marry  you.  Never, 
Nelly,  suffer  yourself  to  be  so  deluded." 

She  arose  and  walked  to  and  fro  in  the 
chamber,  and  Nelly  recalled  as  she  did  so  the 
summer  twilights,  long  past,  when  her  gay 
laugh  rang  out  from  among  the  flowers  that 
she  had  planted  and  tended  with  such  care 
(there  were  no  flowers  planted  now),  and  when 
she  sat  on  the  mossy  door-step  in  the  deeper 
evening,  more  quietly,  but  not  .less  happy, 
speaking  sometimes  very  low  and  tenderly  in 
answer  to  a  voice  as  low  and  tender  as  her 
own.  This  was  all  long  ago,  when  Nelly  was 
a  child,  but  she  could  remember  that  Annette 
was  gentle,  and  loving,  and  hopeful,  that  she 
often  kissed  her,  and  talked  to  her  of  the 
goodness  and  happiness  and  beauty  that  were 
in  the  world. 

"  And  for  the  desertion,  Netty,"  she  said,  at 


M  A  K  K  I  E  D  ,      NOT     MATED.  41 

last,  "  you  think  too  hardly  of  our  parents, 
because  they  did  not  educate  you  to  be  the 
wife  of  the  man  you  loved  ;  but  that  he  ever 
loved  you  is  impossible,  else  he  would  not 
have  left  you.  Turn  your  reproaches  where 
they  belong,  and  yon  will  have  gained  in  love 
and  respect  for  our  father ;  he  is  an  old  man 
now,  and  his  grey  hairs  are  very  close  to  the 
grave." 

"  Yes,  he  is  an  old  man,  a  miserly,  misera 
ble  old  man  !  You  are  shocked,  but  truth  is 
truth,  whether  spoken  of  man  or  angel,  and 
truth  is  truth  if  not  spoken  at  all.  Yet  I  do 
love  my  father,  and  pity  him ;  but  he  will 
not  allow  me  to  make  him  happy;  he  has 
warped  me  from  my  bent  as  much  as  he 
could  ;  and  now  our  natures  are  antagonistic, 
and  we  were  better  apart  than  together." 

"  "What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  I  mean  that  I  have  suffered,  and  strug 
gled,  and  starved  here,  as  long  as  I  can,  and 
if  I  can  't  free  myself  in  one  way  I  will  in 
another :  by  marrying  Henry  Graham,  for 
instance." 

Nelly  smiled.     "  I  know  your  pride   and 


42         MAKKIED,    NOT    MATED. 

ambition  too  well,"  slie  said,  "  to  fear  such 
an  alliance." 

"  Pride  and  ambition  !"  repeated  Annette, 
"  I  have  no  use  for  such  words  ;  look  at  me," 
and  she  turned  toward  her  sister :  "  old,  hope 
less,  friendless,  and  heartless.  I  once  Lad 
dreams,  indeed,  but  they  were  dreams.  I  am 
learning  to  see  things  as  they  are.  "What 
good  will  come  to  me  in  this  old  rookery  ?  I 
suppose  I  shall  grow  uglier,  and  older,  and 
bitterer,  if  that  were  possible.  Look  around," 
she  said,  enumerating  some  of  the  weightiest 
names  with  which  they  were  both  familiar, 
"  will  any  of  these  people  admit  us  to  their 
society  on  terms  of  equality  ?  And  why  not  ? 
God  has  endowed  us  as  richly  as  them,  and 
more  so  ;  we  are  entitled  by  our  wealth  to  their 
position  ;  but  by  vulgar  habits  and  total  igno 
rance  of  the  usages  of  cultivated  men  and 
women  we  are  exiled  from  them.  "What  is 
the  use  of  hope  ?" 

"  I  do  not  see  as  you  do,  my  dear  sister," 
said  Nelly,  and  she  proceeded  to  soften  the 
hard  and  naked  truths  before  her,  as  only  with 
the  mists  that  go  up  from  a  fountain  of  love 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.        43 

she  could  soften  them.  "  Remember  that  when 
our  parents  came  here,  as  pioneers,  they  had 
little  but  their  hands  and  their  hearts  to 
encourage  them  ;  a  hard  task  they  proposed 
to  themselves,  and  earnestly  they  wrought  for 
its  accomplishment ;  no  economy  was  too 
rigid,  no  labor  too  severe,  sustained  and 
encouraged  as  they  were  by  the  expectation 
of  one  day  surrounding  themselves  and  us 
with  the  elegances  and  refinements  of  life. 
They  did  not  see  nor  know  that  our  natures 
differed  from  theirs,  and  that  the  severe 
schooling  they  gave  us  must  embitter  all  our 
years.  Think  of  it,  Netty ;  think  of  our 
poor  mother,  pale,  and  patient,  and  hopeful, 
more  for  us  than  for  herself,  making  plans  for 
coming  good  even  on  her  death-bed,  and 
going  from  us  without  having  reaped  any  of 
the  pleasures  that  should  reward  a  life  of  toil. 
If  she  had  lived  we  might  have  seen  better 
days.  As  it  is,  let  us  make  the  mosfr  of  our 
scanty  means  of  enjoyment ;  life  is  short,  let 
us  not  embitter  it  more  than  we  must." 

And  differently  as  the  sisters  had  spoken, 
each  had  said  the  truth.     On  the  death  of  his 


4:4:        M  A  K  K  i  E  D  ,    NOT    MATED. 

wife,  who  had  lovingly  shared  his  hardships, 
Mr.  Furniss  lost  all  care  for  everything ;  the 
bright  day  he  had  looked  forward  to  be 
came  suddenly  black ;  the  joy  almost  with 
in  his  grasp  was  snatched  away,  and  after 
the  first  passionate  flow  of  tender  grief,  only 
bitterness  mingled  with  his  tears.  The  house, 
unfinished  at  the  loved  one's  death,  was  never 
completed  ;  the  room  in  which  the  corpse  was 
laid  was  never  furnished ;  and  from  the  day 
of  her  burial  all  previous  accumulations  shrunk 
and  wasted  toward  ruin. 

The  father  saw  the  daughters  unlike  the 
mother,  and  was  displeased  ;  naturally  they 
turned  toward  the  gaieties  of  society,  while 
she  had  loved  only  her  home  ;  but  I  need  not 
enlarge :  enough  that,  kept  together  by  the 
force  of  outward  circumstances,  they  grew 
further  and  further  apart,  till  the  house  was 
divided  against  itself,  and  the  wretched  mono 
tony  forced  upon  the  sisters  was  fretting  out 
the  life  of  the  one  and  the  amiability  of  the 
other.  So,  one  thinking  of  new  sacrifices 
and  new  endeavors,  and  the  other  of  better 
fortune  to  be  attained  in  some  way  —  she 


MARKTED,    NOT    MATED.         45 

cared  little  what — they  sat  in  the  old  cham 
ber  late  into  the  night. 

"  How  hot  your  head  is !"  Annette  said  at 
last,  feeling  Nelly's  forehead  burn  against  her 
shoulder.  She  tried  to  choke  back  the  short 
dry  cough,  and  smile.  Annette  softly  closed 
the  window,  and  the  sisters  retired  for  the 
night. 


4:6        MARKIED,    NOT    MATED. 


CHAPTER    III. 

OUT  of  the  noontide  heats  of  early  Juae 
fly  the  birds  ;  the  shadows  of  "Woodside 
are  full  of  them.  It  is  a  fine  day  for  the 
mowers ;  the  broad  blades  of  the  corn  curl 
together,  and  dust  goes  up  from  the  furrows 
as  the  last  plowing  between  the  green  rows  is 
finished.  Nowhere  within  a  dozen  miles  of 
the  great  city  is  there  a  prettier  farm,  or  one 
under  better  culture,  or  yielding  a  handsomer 
interest.  The  proprietor  is  a  thrifty  manager, 
as  a  glance  over  the  grounds  will  attest. 

But  let  us  suppose  ourselves  in  the  little 
red  market  wagon,  with  its  neat  white  cover 
and  carpeting  of  straw,  that  is  just  approach 
ing,  almost  within  view.  There  is  a  coverlid, 
blue  and  white,  thrown  over  the  spring  seat, 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.         47 

that  was  never  there  before,  and  two  or  three 
bunches  of  mint  are  twisted  under  the  hoops 
of  the  calash ;  and  Mr.  Graham  has  set  his  hat 
jauntily  on  one  side  of  his  head ;  he  wears  a 
shirt  with  ruffles,  too,  and  now  and  then  he 
urges  forward  the  fine  horse  he  drives,  by 
touching  his  flank  with  a  beech  switch,  ad 
dressing  the  animal  the  while  as  though  he 
were  a  familiar,  well  acquainted  with  the  per 
son  beside  him. 

Annette,  for  the  person  alluded  to  is  no 
other,  turns  aside  to  conceal  her  smiles,  raises 
the  white  curtain  of  the  wagon,  points  to  a 
tall  monument,  the  only  one  towering  above 
the  briars  and  thistles  and  nameless  hillocks 
of  a  wayside  graveyard,  and  asks  who  is 
buried  there. 

"  My  father,"  replies  Mr.  Graham ;  "he 
was  a  proud  man  in  his  life,  and  the  monu 
ment  is  of  his  own  design ;"  and  he  adds  : 
"  Even  in  our  ashes  burn  our  wonted  fires." 

Annette  turns  her  black  eyes  full  upon  him, 
and  asks  what  was  the  father's  name  ;  and 
when  it  is  told  her,  exclaims,  "  ~Not  so  pretty 
as  yours  !"  and  she  calls  over  "  Henry,  Harry, 


48        MAEEIED,    NOT    MATED. 

Hal !  —  you  have  a  variety  of  sweet  names, 
which  shall  I  call  you  ?" 

"  Either  is  sweet  as  you  pronounce  it,"  ho 
replies,  "  but  call  me  Hal." 

"  And  what  will  you  call  me  ?  It  will  be 
quite  too  precise,  when  you  are  teaching  me 
to  milk,  to  say  Miss  Furniss,  you  know." 

"  Oli,  I  shall  call  you  Netty.  I  do  n't  like 
the  Ann." 

"  No  more  do  I ;  nor  the  Furniss  either," 
says  she  ;  "  I  wish  some  one  in  charity  would 
give  me  a  better  name." 

The  young  man  says  he  wishes  he  dare  offer 
his ;  and  the  crimson  that  blushes  along  his 
cheek  goes  up  from  his  heaart,  Annette  Fur 
niss  knows  that  right  well ;  nevertheless,  she 
answers  in  a  tone  that  may  be  either  jest  or 
earnest,  "  I  only  wish  you  were  not  making 
so  pretty  a  speech  to  flatter  me,  Mr.  Graham." 

"  Mr.  Graham !"  repeats  the  young  man,  as 
if  he  would  say,  why  do  n't  you  call  me  Hal  ? 
but  Netty,  suddenly  charmed  with  the  pros 
pect,  claps  her  hands  in  ecstasy,  and  ex 
claims  :  "  How  lovely !  this  is  Woodside,  I 
know," 


MAEEIED,    ^OT    MATED.        49 

The  young  farmer  bows  in  silence,  or  rather 
gives  his  head  a  backward  jerk,  -which  is  his 
style  of  bowing.  Netty  affects  unconscious 
ness  of  his  displeasure,  and  artlessly  tells 
him  she  would  like  to  live  at  Woodside  for 
ever. 

He  smiles  again,  and  urges  forward  the 
horse  with  an  address  of  such  sort  as  he  would 
make  if  it  were  his  brother  in  the  harness. 

Miss  Furniss  relapses  into  silent  admiration 
of  the  meadows,  woods,  house,  and  appurte 
nances,  asking  herself,  perhaps,  whether  she 
really  would  accept  them  with  their  incum- 
brance. 

"  For  a  minute  £he  man  talks  very  well : 
he  is  not  a  simpleton,"  thinks  the  girl ;  "no, 
he  is  far  from  it  ;"  so  she  accosts  him  fami 
liarly,  arid  calls  him  u  Hal."  Then  he  hangs 
his  long  legs  out  of  the  wagon,  and  assumes  a 
swaggering  air,  telling  of  daring  feats  he  has 
accomplished,  of  the  immense*  value  of  his 
property  —  now  using  only  "  me"  and  "my" 
when  he  speaks  of  the  estate,  and  impliedly 
asserting  that  his  mother  and  brother  are  pen 
sioners  upon  him. 

3 


50        MARRIED,    KOT    MATED. 

"  I  wonder  if  it  is  all  his  ?"  queries  Miss 
Furniss.  "I  can  count  twenty  cows  on  the 
hills  yonder  ;  and  what  extensive  woodlands  ! 
Timber  is  valuable  here,  I  suppose,  and  the 
house  has  really  been  stylish  in  its  time, 
and  barring  some  little  defects — every  body 
has  his  faults  —  this  Hal  is  a  good  fellow 
enough." 

A  broad  avenue,  bordered  with  trees,  leads 
from  the  main  road  to  the  dwelling,  a  two- 
story  brick  house,  with  an  antique  portico  in 
front,  and  a  little  yardj  fenced  separately  from 
the  rear  grounds,  where  extends  a  lower  range 
of  buildings,  edged  with  curious  porches,  at 
the  ends  of  which  little  rooms  have  been  boxed 
up,  as  if  for  temporary  uses.  Abdut  the  yard 
are  a  great  many  flowers,  prettily  disposed ; 
some  of  them  rare,  and  of  wonderful  beauty. 
Two  partly-grown  calves  are  running  loose 
among  them ;  and  on  the  lower  step  of  the 
portico  sits  a  haggish-looking  old  woman, 
holding  a  stick,  which  she  strikes  toward  the 
animals  when  they  tread  too  near  the  flowers. 
As  Annette,  having  been  assisted  to  alight,  is 
led  by  her  companion  toward  this  person,  she 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.         51 

sees  her  suddenly  strike  out  the  stick  in  a 
direction  where  the  calves  are  not,  and  also 
sees  imperfectly  some  curious  object  leap  up 
from  where  it  lay  in  the  sun,  hop  round  the 
corner  of  the  house,  and  disappear.  With 
an  air  of  the  most  punctilious  respect  "  Hal" 
introduces  Annette  to  his  mother,  and  pro 
ceeds  to  drive  the  calves  toward  the  meadow, 
the  two  women,  meantime,  disappearing  with 
in  doors. 

Mrs.  Graham  assumes  a  gentle  tone,  and 
informs  Annette  that  she  has  conferred  upon 
a  poor  old  lady  the  greatest  happiness  she 
could  possibly  enjoy — she  is  confined  to  her 
room,  from  habit,  and  fears  her  guest  will  be 
lonesome  till  the  return  of  Stafford,  of  whom 
she  is  evidently  proud,  though  she  says  of 
Henry,  whom  she  calls  "Sonny,"  that  he 
reads  a  great  deal,  and  that  his  room  has  quite 
an  antiquarian  air.  "  I  have  not  been  in  it 
these  six  years,"  she  adds  ;  "  I  am  a  poor  old 
creature  now,  you  see ;  but  I  will  be  smart 
while  you  are  here,  and  you  will  stay  three 
months ;  yes,  four,  or  five,  or  six,  won't  you, 
dear?"  During  all  her  long  address  she 


52  M  A  K  B  I  E  1>  ,      Is  O  T      M  A  TED. 

made  not  the  pause  of  a  moment ;  but  Laving 
untied  Annette's  bonnet,  which  she  said  was 
lovely,  stooped  over  her,  patting  her  cheek 
and  shoulder  in  the  most  condescending  man 
ner  imaginable. 

While  she  was  thus  engaged,  one  of  the 
side  doors  of  the  parlor  was  opened,  stealth 
ily,  and  at  a  mysterious  movement  of  the 
dame's  hand,  closed  again.  It  seemed  to 
interrupt  the  'flow  of  her  thought,  however, 
and  she  shortly  disappeared  through  the  same 
door,  having  first  taken  up  her  outer  skirt, 
and  from  a  dirty  pocket  of  coarse  white  muslin, 
tied  round  her  waist  with  a  string,  fished  up  a 
letter,  crumpled  and  dirty,  which  she  gave 
Annette  to  amuse  herself  with  while  she 
should  be  absent. 

The  girl  held  it  at  arm's  length  as  she  un 
folded  it,  for  she  could  not  but  notice  the 
handful  of  tobacco  ashes,  twine,  and  money, 
in  paper  and  silver,  together  with  bits  of 
soap,  lumps  of  salve,  and  things  indescriba 
ble,  which  had  been  drawn  out  of  that  curious 
receptacle  with  the  letter. 

"  I  want  you  to  observe,  honey,"  she  said, 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.         53 

poking  her  head  within  the  door,  after  a  mo 
ment,  "  how  affectionately  and  sweetly  he 
writes.  Unity  in  families,  my  dear,  is  so  per 
fectly  delightful." 

Annette  did  not  read  the  affectionate  missive 
immediately ;  the  old  woman  stood  between 
her  and  any  picture  her  fancy  might  have 
been  disposed  to  draw  of  Stafford. 

She  was,  perhaps,  sixty :  tall,  unbent,  and 
muscular.  Her  hair  was  grizzled,  but  seemed 
yet  very  thick,  and  was  cut  short  on  her  neck, 
turning  over  in  a  heavy  roll  against  the  frill 
of  her  nightcap ;  for  she  wore  a  cap,  which 
appeared  to  have  served  for  both  night  and 
day,  past  many  washing-days.  Her  com 
plexion  was  dark,  her  eyes  grey  and  keen,  and 
all  her  dress  slovenly  in  the  extreme.  A 
black  silk  shawl  was  carelessly  pinned  about 
her  shoulders,  and  her  frock  was  composed  of 
black  worsted,  soiled  and  patched  so  as  quite 
to  obscure  its  original  brightness,  and  make 
doubtful  even  its  original  colors.  It  was  tat 
tered  and  fringed  at  the  bottom,  and  so  short 
as  to  reveal  liberally  the  petticoat,  which  was 
by  no  means  so  neat  as  petticoats  are  com- 


54  M  A  E  R  I  E  D  ,      NOT     MATED. 

monly  supposed  to  be.  She  wore  no  shoes, 
but  a  sort  of  moccasins  instead.  Her  teeth 
were  sound,  nor  did  she  betray  indeed  the 
slightest  diminution  of  any  of  her  faculties. 
Her  voice  was  affectedly  and  disagreeably 
affectionate,  and  she  talked  incessantly,  pat 
ting  and  petting  every  body  about  her,  and 
herself  too.  "  Is  that  Hal's  mother?"  thought 
Annette,  as  the  door  closed,  and  the  maudlin 
tone  changed  to  one  of  coarse  and  bitter  anger. 
She  could  not  hear  the  words  distinctly,  but 
the  tone  implied  an  offending  party,  in  whose 
situation  she  would  not  willingly  be  placed. 

Having  recovered  a  little  from  the  shock 
which  she  had  really  received,  Annette,  as  I 
said,  unfolded  the  letter,  at  arm's  length,  and 
shaking  off  a  quantity  of  snuff  sticking  about 
it,  proceeded  to  read,  failing  however  to  dis 
cover  the  especial  sweetness  or  affection  of  its 
contents.  It  began  with  "dear  mother,"  arid 
concluded  with  "your  affectionate  son,  Staf 
ford  Graham  ;"  but  aside  from  these  formali 
ties,  there  was  nothing  to  indicate  any  tender 
relationship  between  them.  The  pith  of  the 
communication  was,  that  the  writer  proposed 


M  A  B  K  I  E  D  ,      NOT      MATED.  55 

shortly  to  be  at  home,  that  he  was  in  debt  to  a 
considerable  amount,  and  that  Henry  or  his 
mother  must  immediately  forward  a  stipulated 
sum  for  his  relief.  There  were  some  di  ec- 
tions  about  the  management  of  the  farm,  and 
the  epistle  concluded  as  follows : 

"  Have  that  pen,  usually  denominated  my 
room,  cleansed  a  little :  see  to  it  yourself, 
mother.  It  must  be  thoroughly  aired,  and 
refurnished  sufficiently  for  comfort,  at  least; 
remember  these  orders  are  imperative." 

As  Annette  finished  the  reading,  she  glanced 
round  the  room,  more  with  a  view  to  see  its 
appointments  than  she  had  yet  done.  Some  of 
the  furniture  was  elegant;  a  little  old-fashioned, 
to  be  sure,  and  arranged  very  carelessly; 
indeed  the  whole  aspect  of  things  indicated 
the  absence  of  a  superintendent ;  and  dust  lay 
over  the  chairs  and  tables  ;  winter  curtains 
darkened  the  windows ;  and  cornices,  picture- 
frames,  and  mirrors  were  exposed  to  the  flies, 
swarms  of  which  darkened  the  ceiling ;  but 
still  there  were  unmistakable  indications  of 
former  style  and  liberal  expenditure. 

Among  the  pictures  were  two  portraits,  ono 


MAEBIED,    SOT    MATED. 

of  a  gentleman  past  middle  life,  exceed 
handsome,   and  with  the  inimitable  air  aris- 
tocrr tic  ;  the  other  of  a  younger  man,  greatly 
like    he  elc  andsome,  a  little 

:..    :     '  :    "".  :      ....'  -. 

While  before  these  portraits,  wondering 
who  they  represented,  a  sudden  jerk  upon 
her  arm  arrested  her  attention,  and  turning 
quickly  she  saw  before  her  the  strangest  speci 
men  of  humanity  she  had  ever  met.  In  years 
new-comer  seemed  a  child,  but  in  dress 
and  manner  she  might  hare  been  a  woman  of 
twe:.  -«r  of  any  age,  in  fact,  for  all  these 

said  to  the  contrary. 

~  I  suppose,"  she  said,  "  that  may  be  you 
thought  dinner  never  would  be  ready.  I  was 
late  with  iijy  washing  to-day  ;  come  right  out 
now,  and  eat  such  as  we  have  got;  nothing 
very  inviting  to  a  town  appetite ;"  and  she  led 
the  way  to  the  dining-room. 

nette  detained  her  to  inquire  about  the 
portraits. 

-  TLa:  "s  Staff.'  id,  pointing  a  finger 

at  the  younger  of  the  two ;  "  you  ain't  in  love 
with  him  a?ready,  be  you  ?     'Cause  if  you  are, 


MAEEIED,    HOT    MATZD. 

I  can  tell  YOU  it  ?s  lost  time  :  I  "ve  seen  a  he«p 
Younger   and   prettier    girls  than   YOU,   that 
could  n't  come  it  when  they  tried  to  get  him  ; 
I  one  of  'em  !?3 

In  all  her  experience  of  womanhood,  An 
nette  had  neYer  seen  so  loose-tongned  a  crea 
ture  ;  but  the  look  with  which  she  answered 
this  in  no  wise  disconcerted  her,  for,  placing 
her  fore-finger  against  her  nose,  she  exclaim 
ed,  t;  You  can  't  come  it  !"  and  so  she  went 
laughing  and  skipping  out  of  the  room.  A: 
ame  time  Mr.  Henry  Graham  entered,  and 
politely  conducted  his  guest  to  the  dinner. 

Two  or  three  tables  had  been  joined  into 
one,  and  a  party  of  harresr  already 

partaking  of  a  plain  but  Yery  substantial 
meal  :  beef,  mutton,  and  turnips,  with  milk, 
apple  pies,  and  cakes.  The  little  woman  waa 
n  earring  meats  and  serving 
the 

in    the    world     do  n't       ranmarm 


conic  said,  looking  Yexed  and  ann< 

ry  thing  will  be  as  cold  as  a  stone  —  - 
she  going  to  wait  and  ea:  - 

Hal  shook  his  head  significantly,  and  she 
3* 


58  M  A  K  K  I  E  D  ,      NOT      MATED. 

broke  off  the  sentence,  only,  however,  to 
offend  in  a  new  direction. 

"  Here,  old  man  and  old  woman,"  she  re 
sumed,  placing  two  chairs  at  the  head  of  the 
table  ;  "  you  may  as  well  sit  together,  I  reckon 
you  have  to  make  a  beginning  sometime,"  and 
she  laughed  meaningly. 

"  You  are  one  of  the  gals,"  one  of  the  har 
vesters  said,  upon  which  she  struck  him  a 
smart  blow  upon  the  ear,  retorting  that  he  was 
one  of  them  just  as  much.  There  was  to  this 
a  general  greeting  of  laughter. 

"  Boys,  this  lady  !"  said  Mr.  Graham,  wav 
ing  his  hand  toward  them  with  some  dig 
nity. 

"  Oh,  you  want  to  make  Netty  Fumiss  be 
lieve  you  are  some  great  things,"  said  the  lit 
tle  woman ;  "  I  can  see  some  things  if  I  am 
nobody  but  Rache." 

"  I  wish  you  could  see  yourself  as  others  see 
you,"  said  the  vexed  young  man,  blushing  con 
fusedly  as  he  spoke. 

"  I  do  n't,"  she  replied,  "  'cause  it  might 
make  me  feel  bad.  I  'd  hate  to  look  as  simple 
to  myself  as  a  certain  young  man  looked  to  me 


M  A  K  R  I  E  D  ,      NOT      MATED.  59 

when  he  fixed  up  in  a  ruffled  shirt  to  go  to 
market." 

All  eyes  were  turned  again  to  the  object  of 
this  ill-natured  taunt.  His  sorrows  were  thick 
ening,  but  as  yet  he  found  ample  compensation 
in  the  smiles  of  Annette,  who  seemed  to  have 
formed  the  determination  to  please  and  to  be 
pleased. 

And  so  began  the  acquaintance  of  Annette 
Furniss,  the  heartless,  disappointed,  and  em 
bittered  woman,  with  the  youthful  and  ambi 
tious  farmer. 

Novelty,  unless  very  unpleasant,  prompts  to 
good  nature.  Woodside,  in  itself,  was  really 
a  charming  place ;  and  perhaps  the  flattering 
attentions  of  Henry  were  not  disagreeable. 
Besides,  Annette  had  wound  up  her  energies 
for  the  task  of  freeing  herself  in  some  way  from 
what  seemed  to  her  the  most  adverse  fortune, 
and  charity  would  hope  that  she  never  once 
contemplated,  even  for  this  end,  a  system  of 
positive  dissimulation. 

The  gossiping  propensity  and  odd  assurance 
of  Rache  amused  her,  and  when  the  dinner  was 
concluded  she  began  to  cultivate  the  acquaint- 


60         M  A  E  E  i  is  D  ,    NOT    MATED. 

ance  with  her  so  unceremoniously  begun,  by 
assisting  in  the  labors  of  the  afternoon. 

They  were  engaged  in  removing  the  dishes, 
Annette  chatting  as  gaily  and  almost  as  wildly 
as  her  companion,  when  Henry,  who  had  gone 
into  the  meadow  with  the  mowers,  came  in 
with  a  quail  in  his  hand,  which  he  gave  in 
charge  of  the  girl  with  many  careful  directions. 
While  sitting  on  her  nest  the  poor  bird  had 
been  surprised  by  the  men  and  injured  in  the 
wing  by  the  point  of  a  scythe.  The  crea 
ture  laughed  as  she  took  charge  of  it,  but  gave 
assurance  that  she  would  do  all  that  was  need 
ful  in  the  matter. 

"  Look  here,  Netty,"  she  exclaimed,  when 
Henry  was  gone,  "  this  is  the  way  to  cure  the 
thing ;"  and  as  she  spoke  she  took  it  by  the 
head  and  whirled  it  round  in  rapid  circles  till 
every  bone  in  the  neck  was  broken. 

"Are  you  totally  depraved?"  inquired  An 
nette,  surveying  her  coolly. 

"Don'  know  what  you  mean,"  she  answered, 
"  but  I  expect  like  enough  I  am." 

"How  old  are  you?" 

"Don'  know  —  I  'm  a  young  woman." 


MARKIED,    NOT    MATED.         61 

"Have  you  a  father  and  mother?" 
"Got  a  mother  —  hain't  got  no  father  and 
never  had  as  I  know  of — he  died  or  run  away 
or  something." 

"And  why  do  n't  you  live  with  your  mother?" 
"'Cause  I  got  a  step-father,  and  he  's  ugly  to 
me;  if  he  's  beat  me  once  he  's  beat  me  a  hun 
dred  times,  and  so  I  run  away.  And  now,  if 
you  're  done  asking  questions  I  '11  go  and  split 
my  oven  wood — I  forgot  to  tell  Hal — but  it 's 
no  difference — I  can  chop  as  fast  as  he  can." 

So  saying  she  went  with  a  skip  and  a  jump 
toward  a  heap  of  wood  near  the  kitchen  door, 
and  selecting  a  dry  fence  rail,  began  to  cut  and 
split  it  into  slender  strips,  singing,  as  she  did 
so,  for  the  pleasure  of  Annette,  rather  than  her 
self,  as  her  manner  indicated,  one  of  those 
senseless  refrains,  which  were  never  worth  the 
writing,  and  yet  have  descended  through  num 
berless  generations  as  if  a  portion  of  the  very 
atmosphere  of  rural  life.  Pity  mingled  with 
her  laughter,  as  Annette  listened  and  looked, 
for  the  girl's  rudeness  and  precocity  were  alike 
ludicrous  and  sorrowful.  In  her  form  and  fea 
tures  she  appeared  as  if  but  between  thirteen 


62         MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

and  fourteen  years  of  age ;  her  dress  was  long, 
and  in  all  respects  like  that  of  an  adult  woman; 
her  hair  was  knotted  up  with  a  very  large 
comb,  and  arranged  in  puffs  along  the  cheeks 
and  forehead,  after  the  fashion  of  the  ladies  of 
that  time;  her  feet  were  bare,  and  seemed  not 
to  have  been  washed  lately;  her  sleeves  rolled 
far  aboye  the  elbows ;  and  a  large  towel,  worn 
as  an  apron,  completed  her  costume. 

"Have  you  liyed  here  eyer  since  you  left 
your  mother?"  asked  Annette,  when  Eache 
returned  to  the  kitchen  with  her  arms  full  of 
the  oven  wood. 

"No,"  she  answered,  dashing  the  fuel  into 
the  great  brick  oven ;  "  1 7ve  lived  at  a  hun 
dred  places,  if  I  Ve  lived  at  one.  You  see, 
when  folks  get  ugly  to  me  I  tie  up  my  things 
and  cut.'' 

"And  do  you  like  this  place?" 

t;Yes,  when  Staff  is  away;"  she  continued, 
UI  do  n't  think  his  picture  the  prettiest  thing 
ever  was,  if  some  other  folks  do." 

"  And  you  like  Henry  ?"  said  Annette, 
ashamed  to  betray  the  interest  she  felt  in  Staf 
ford. 


M  A  B  B  i  E  D  ,    NUT    MATED.         63 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  "he  is  good  to  me, 
and  good  to  every  body ;  there  ain't  a  brute 
beast  in  "Woodside  that  do  n't  foller  after  him 
if  he  goes  a  nigh ;  he 's  good,  he  is ;  I  '11  say  that 
for  him,  if  a  certain  young  lady  do  n't  think  he 
looks  so  well  as  Staff,  and  if  a  certain  old  wo 
man  (I  don't  say  you've  seen  her,  and  I  don't 
say  you  haven't)  thinks  he  ain't  a  fine  gentle 
man  !:'  Having  arranged  the  wood,  she  set 
fire  to  it,  and,  screwing  her  mouth  to  one  side, 
said  demurely,  '•  Granmam  likes  Hal.  in  fact, 
enough  sight  the  best.'' 

"So  I  should  think,"  answered  Annette 
ironically. 

"  How  long  're  you  going  to  stay  here  3"  in 
quired  Rache,  abruptly;  and  she  proceeded, 
u  I  ask  you  because  a  certain  person  do  n't 
love  visitors  well  enough  to  eat  them." 

"  And  so  you  think  I  had  best  limit  my 
visit?" 

"I  did  n't  say  so ;  I  would  n't  say  a  word 
against  granmam  for  the  world ;  as  true  as  I 
live  and  breathe,  I  meant  somebody  else; 
somebody  you  don't  know;  I  meant  an  old 
man  ;  no  I  did  n't,  I  meant  a  young  man.'' 


64:  M  A  II  II  I  K  I)  ,      W ;  <>  T       M  A  T  E  D  . 

"  Then  I  was  mistaken,"  said  Annette. 

"  May  be  you  think  there  ain't  no  young  man 
in  this  house  but  Hal ;  some  folks  have  been 
here  a  good  while  and  did  n't  find  out  every 
thing." 

"I  never  suspected  there  was  not  another 
person  in  the  house,"  Annette  replied  ;  "  I 
rather  thought  there  was,  from  some  indica 
tions." 

"  What  a  big  fool  I  am,"  said  Eache,  "bab 
bling  secrets ;  but,  never  mind,  I  told  a  big 
story;  there  ain't  no  young  man  in  the  house; 
if  there  is  he  's  crazy ;  no  he  ain't,  he  's  a  fool; 
no,  it 's  all  a  big  lie  ;  Jim  would  n't  be  the  only 
one  granmam  would  beat  with  her  big  stick, 
if  she  heard  me  run  on  so.  I  did  n't  mean  to 
say  Jim,  there  ain't  no  Jim  as  I  know  of."  Af 
ter  a  moment's  pause  she  went  on:  "You  've 
got  a  father  ?  What  kind  of  an  old  man  is  he  ? 
is  he  rich?  has  he  joined  any  meeting?  live  in 
a  big  house  ?" 

And  so  she  gabbled,  working  all  the  while 
with  twice  the  energy  and  efficiency  of  a  com 
mon  servant.  The  dinner  dishes  were  rinsed 
in  a  twinkling;  then  half  a  dozen  loaves  of 


M  A  K  R  i  E  D  ,    NOT    MATED.         65 

bread  were  made ;  eggs  were  beaten  for  pies 
and  cakes ;  and  when  all  was  completed  the 
oven  was  found  to  be  heated ;  to  work  and  to 
talk  very  fast  seemed  alike  natural  to  her. 
For  greater  convenience,  for  she  was  far  from 
tall,  she  had  made  a  little  bench  which  she 
moved  from  place  to  place  as  her  duties  re 
quired  ;  now  standing  on  it  to  get  her  bread  into 
the  oven,  now  to  wash  the  dishes,  now  to  see 
into  the  closet.  She  had  learned  every  thing 
"of  her  own  head,"  she  said,  and  managed  all 
the  household  affairs  as  she  chose,  for  gran- 
mam  remained  in  her  own  room  pretty  much 
with  Jim  :  muttering  the  name  so  that  An 
nette  only  guessed  what  she  said. 

When  she  had  set  the  bread  and  pies  to  bake 
she  brought  in  from  the  garden  two  mammoth 
turnips,  one  of  which  she  gave  to  Annette,  and 
having  tipped  her  chair  back,  proceeded  to 
eat  the  other,  first  preparing  it  by  scraping  a 
mouthful  at  a  time  with  a  case  knife. 

She  knew  not  her  age,  nor  her  name,  ex 
cepting  that  it  was  Rache  ;  nor  did  she  care  to 
know.  There  was  nothing  sensitive  in  her  na 
ture  ;  she  could  work  and  earn  her  own  living. 


66         M  A  K  R  i  E  D  ,    NOT    MATED. 

she  said,  in  one  place  or  another,  and  no  thanks 
to  any  man.  To  excel  in  all  departments  of 
housekeeping  was  her  ambition  ;  and  that  she 
did  every  thing  in  the  best  style  was  her  un 
hesitating  belief.  That  anybody  was  wiser  she 
had  no  suspicion ;  nor  had  she  ever  thought 
whether  the  world  was  flat  or  round  ;  that  cab 
bages  and  corn  grew  in  it  she  knew,  but  the 
most  important  fact  in  her  brain  was,  that 
she  should  be  married  some  day,  and  the  proba 
bility  was  that  it  would  be  at  no  distant  one. 
"With  men  and  women,  she  conversed  as  though 
her  experiences  were  as  large  as  theirs.  Was 
any  one  ill,  she  made  him  gruel ;  did  any  one 
die,  she  helped  to  make  the  shroud ;  she  enjoy 
ed  the  comfortable  assurance  that  she  was 
equal  to  all  occasions,  and  to  all  conditions. 
Such  was  the  real  mistress  of  "VYoodside. 


MABKIED.    NOT    MATED.        67 


CHAPTER  IV. 

AND  now  Henry  Graham  is  very  happy. 
The  days  were  never  so  full  of  sunshine 
for  him.  He  is  up  with  the  larks  in  the  morn 
ing,  and  singing  as  gaily  as  they.  In  all  res 
pects,  indeed,  he  is  improving ;  there  is  a  re 
fining  influence  in  the  atmosphere  of  Woodside 
now  that  was  never  in  it  hefore.  He  does  not 
repeat  his  old  and  familiar  slang  phrases  so 
habitually  ;  he  is  not  aware  of  dropping  them, 
perhaps,  but  in  conversing  with  Annette  he 
finds  no  uses  for  them.  The  blue  trowsers  he 
used  to  wear  about  home,  \vith  grey  patches  over 
the  knees,  hang  from  a  peg  in  the  stable,  and 
those  formerly  appropriated  to  Sundays  and 
market  days  are  in  every-day  requisition.  The 
weather-beaten  straw  hat  has  kindled  one  of 


68         MAKKIED,    NOT    MATEI:. 

the  kitchen  fires,  and  a  new  one,  with  a  broad 
rim  and  black  ribbon,  is  substituted.  He  spends 
more  time  among  the  flowers  than  formerly, 
giving  the  sickle  and  the  plow  into  other  hands. 
In  air  and  feature  he  seems  improving,  too : 
in  the  shadow  of  the  broad  rim,  and  the  flow 
ers,  the  bronze  is  softening  on  his  cheek  ;  the 
beard  that  used  to  look  crisped  and  scorched, 
as  it  were,  and  faded,  too,  carefully  kept  now, 
assumes  a  richer  dye,  and  curls  full  and  grace 
fully. 

"  Beally  Hal,"  says  Annette  one  evening,  as 
he  approaches  where  she  sits,  reading,  under  the 
low  apple  tree  boughs,  "  Really  Hal,  you  do  re 
semble  your  brother  a  great  deal  more  than  I 
at  first  supposed."  The  smile  that  illuminated 
the  young  man's  face  increased  the  resem 
blance,  for  it  was,  perhaps,  the  smile,  more 
than  any  regularity  or  grace  of  feature,  that 
made  the  picture  of  Stafford  beautiful. 

"You  are  very  kind,  but  my  brother  has 
greatly  the  advantage  of  me,  in  every  way." 
He  looked  down  and  his  pleased  expression 
vanished  as  he  spoke. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Annette,  coquettishly 


MARKIED,    NOT    MATED.         69 

playing  with  the  straw  hat  which  he  had 
thrown  aside,  "  why  don't  you  have  your 
picture  painted  ?" 

"  Because,"  he  replied,  still  bending  his  eyes 
on  the  grass,  "  I  should  not  value  it  myself, 
and  no  one  else  would,  I  am  sure." 

"  Remember  what  a  treasure  it  would  be  to 
your  friends,  if  by  any  chance  you  were  sepa 
rated." 

"  Humph  !"  was  his  only  answer. 

"  You  are  not  amiable  to-night ;"  and  she 
put  on  a  half-offended  air,  and  became  sud 
denly  enamored  of  the  prospect  that  presented 
itself  in  the  direction  opposite. 

She  had  invariably  succeeded  in  pleasing 
before,  when  she  had  exerted  her  powers,  and 
now  was  really  vexed. 

Both  were  silent  for  a  time,  but  a  woman  is 
usually  the  first  to  break  silence  under  such 
circumstances,  and  Annette  said,  at  length,  in 
a  careless  tone  :  "  What  day  will  you.  be  going 
to  market  ?" 

He  mentioned  the  day,  simply ;  and  if  he 
understood  the  intimation  that  Annette  would 
return  home  with  him,  he  did  not  betray  it. 


70         MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

To  say  truth,  lie  was  not  quite  assured  of  his 
position ;  since  coming  to  Woodside,  Annette 
had  completed  the  conquest  over  him  pre 
viously  hegun,  but  whether  the  feelings  she 
had  inspired  were  reciprocated  at  all,  and  if 
so,  how  far,  was  extremely  questionable. 

One  day  she  would  rake  hay  in  the  meadow 
with  him,  and  enter  with  playful  seriousness 
into  all  his  plans  for  the  future  cultivation  and 
improvement  of  Woodside  ;  or  talk  of  the  next 
month  and  next  year  as  though  her  interests 
were  identified  with  his ;  but  all  the  while 
keep  herself  involved  in  a  mist ;  and  try  as  he 
would,  he  could  not  see  precisely  where  to 
find  her.  Once  or  twice  he  had  essayed  to 
strip  off  this  obscuration,  but  with  each  endea 
vor  she  either  "  made  herself  into  thin  air 
and  vanished,"  or  stood  out  distinctly  visible 
and  impenetrable  as  a  statue. 

" I  belong  to  myself  and  you  belong  to  me," 
seemed,  whether  it  were  so  or  not,  to  be  the 
thought  which  governed  all  her  wayward 
policy  toward  the  conquered  and  anxious 
swain.  But  to-night  the  business  of  love- 
making,  which  had  hitherto  been  carried  on 


M  A  H  K  I  E  D  ,     NOT     MATED.  71 

in  playful  banter,  seemed  likely  to  assume 
a  more  serious  aspect.  Henry  had  uncon 
sciously  adopted  a  manner  best  calculated  to 
bring  liis  mistress  to  terms. 

"Perhaps,  after  all,"  she  thought,  as  she 
sat  in  silent  meditation,  "  he  has  been  as  little 
sincere  as  myself."  But  while  she  was  revolv 
ing  some  little  stroke  of  art  by  which  to  lessen 
the  distance  between  them,  she  saw  herself 
suddenly  deserted. 

A  party  of  rustic  girls  was  entering  the 
gate,  and  he  was  gone  to  meet  them.  They 
seemed  in  high  spirits,  but  their  mingled 
voices  and  laughter  came  gratingly  on  the 
nerves  of  Annette,  and  the  more  so,  perhaps, 
that  one  of  them,  a  rosy-cheeked,  curly-haired 
creature,  of  not  more  than  sixteen,  seemed  to 
command  the  especial  notice  of  Henry  ;  while 
that  she  looked  pretty  in  her  rustic  dress  and 
simple  white  hood,  there  was  no  denying. 

They  had  been  sauntering  among  the  flowers 
fifteen  or  twenty  minutes,  when  Rache,  having 
got  through  with  the  milking,  joined  the  little 
party  —  her  sleeves  rolled  up  as  usual,  and 
her  skirt  pinned  over  her  petticoat  and  hang 


72  M  A  K  R  I  E  D  ,      NOT     MATED. 

ing  in  a  long  point  behind.  She  shook  hands 
with  each  of  the  girls,  saying,  as  she  did  so, 
"I  am  well,  I  thank  you  —  how  do  you  do 
yourself?" 

Afterward  she  asked  of  affairs  at  home,  say 
ing  to  one,  "  I  understand  your  father  is  very 
sick  :  what  doctor  does  he  have  ?" 

"'Oh  dear  me,  suz !"  she  exclaimed,  on 
hearing  the  name  of  the  attending  physician, 
"  do  tell  your  father  if  he  wants  to  die  to  take 
poison  at  once.  I  meant  to  have  gone  to  see 
him,  but  I  have  so  many  cares  and  duties  at 
home." 

Of  another  she  inquired  the  age  of  the 
baby;  how  much  it  weighed,  and  what  name 
was  talked  of.  "  I  understand  it  has  a  dread 
ful  deformed  foot,"  she  said,  "and  that  the 
doctor  has  put  it  in  some  kind  of  a  machine 
which  he  screws  up  tighter  every  day,  and 
that  the  little  thing  cries  with  all  its  might 
whenever  its  foot  is  touched.  Poor  innocent ! 
just  to  think  how  it  suffers  when  it  cries  till  it 
gets  black  and  blue  in  the  face." 

To  another,  with  the  same  thoughtless, 
and  impudent  familiarity,  "I  understand  your 


MAKKIED,    NOT    MATED.         73 

brother  has  come  home  ;  they  say  that  so  far 
from  making  money  where  he  has  been,  he  is 
back  worse  than  nothing.  I  hear  he  looks 
dreadful  bad  too,  and  coughs  like  he  had  the 
consumption." 

It  was  ludicrous  to  see  her,  with  a  hand  set 
upon  either  hip,  conversing  in  such  fashion, 
and  with  a  careworn  expression  on  her  face  so 
unsuited  to  her  years. 

"  We  are  going  to  a  debating  society  to 
night,"  said  Henry,  making  his  most  polite 
bow,  as  with  the  young  women  he  approached 
his  capricious  and  uncertain  charmer ;  "  shall 
we  have  the  pleasure  of  your  company,  Miss 
Furniss?" 

Miss  Furhiss  felt  like  replying,  "Thank  you, ' 
Mr.  Graham ;  you  do  me  more  honor  than  I 
desire." 

She  did  not  so  reply,  however,  but  accepted 
the  invitation  as  courteously  as  if  it  were  with 
the  greatest  delight.  But  in  vain  she  twisted 
flowers  among  her  hair  and  tried  to  be  gay. 
No  woman  likes  to  see  another  taking  from 
her  the  attentions  she  has  been  accustomed  to 
4 


74         MAKEIED,    NOT    MATED. 

receive,  especially  if  that  other  be  younger 
and  prettier  than  herself;  and  Annette  could 
not  quite  reconcile  her  fancy  to  the  society  of 
Bache,  with  whom  she  was  coupled,  while 
Mr.  Graham  offered  his  arm  to  a  fair  damsel 
in  a  white  hood. 

The  little  woman  looked  odd  enough  on  the 
way  to  the  debating  society.  She  had  devoted 
five  minutes  to  the  making  of  her  toilet ;  and 
wore  now  a  pair  of  coarse  shoes  on  her  feet, 
and  on  her  head  a  yellow  bandana  handker 
chief.  She  had  rolled  down  her  sleeves,  and 
tied  on  a  long,  narrow,  black  silk  apron,  the 
property  of  her  "  granmam,"  as  she  called 
Mrs.  Graham.  This  last  article  was  the  part 
of  her  apparelling  that  she  was  particularly 
proud  of;  she  repeatedly  caught  it  up  and 
shook  it  smartly  (for  it  fell  greatly  below  her 
skirt),  reiterating  each  time,  "  How  silk  does 
catch  the  dust !" 

Once  or  twice  she  rallied  Annette  about  her 
depressed  spirits,  asking  whether  the  cat  had 
got  her  tongue  ;  what  made  her.  talk  so  much  j 
and  the  like.  To  all  of  which  that  somewhat 


M  A  K  E,  i  E  D  ,    NOT    MATED.         75 

disturbed  young  lady  replied,  that  she  was 
not  especially  silent,  as  she  knew  of,  and  that 
she  was  sure  she  felt  very  well. 

The  twilight  grew  darker  and  darker,  and 
here  and  there  a  white  star  trembled  overhead, 
as  the  party  entered  a  field  of  woodland,  so 
narrow  as  to  be  readily  seen  through.  The 
way,  previously  dusty,  became  damp,  for  the 
branches  of  the  trees  interlocked  above  ;  grape 
vine  swings  depended  from  some  of  them  ;  and 
small  pens  of  sticks  here  and  there,  called 
playhouses  by  the  children,  indicated  proxi 
mity  to  a  schoolhouse. 

It  was  a  small,  square  building  of  hewn 
logs,  with  the  low  boughs  of  maple  blowing 
against  the  windows.  About  the  door  the 
ground  was  beaten  smooth  and  hard,  by 
the  treading  of  many  feet,  and  across  some 
of  the  fallen  logs  slabs  were  balanced,  that 
told  of  the  charming  play  of  see-saw.  But 
all  the  attraction  to-night  was  within  doors, 
and  many  were  the  groups  of  girls  and  boys 
who  suddenly  appeared,  as  if  just  risen  up 
out  of  the  woods. 

There  were  no  shouts,  no  laughter,  but  a 


76        M  A  ii  R  i  E  D  ,    NOT    MATED. 

suppressed  hum  of  voices  instead,  denoting 
the  coming  on  of  a  great  affair.  Most  of  the 
members  of  the  society  were  already  assem 
bled,  and  conversation  in  undertones  was 
going  on.  There  were  old  farmers  and  young 
farmers,  mechanics  and  day  laborers,  of  vari 
ous  ages  and  conditions.  A  rusty  stove  occu 
pied  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  seated  upon 
it,  when  our  party  made  their  entrance,  was 
a  lad  of  eighteen,  perhaps,  thick-set,  with  a 
round  freckled  face,  and  bold  black  eyes. 
Trowsers  and  shirt  composed  all  his  dress,  and 
in  one  hand  he  held  an  old  straw  hat,  with 
part  of  the  rim  torn  away.  Altogether  he 
was  quite  as  noticeable  a  figure  as  the  school 
master  himself,  a  smiling  old  man,  whose  grey 
queue  was  tied  with  a  fresh  black  ribbon,  and 
whose  carefully-brushed,  thread-bare  suit  told 
the  poor  gentleman  looking  his  best.  He  paid 
his  respects  to  Graham  and  his  friends  with 
graceful  urbanity,  offered  them  the  best  seats, 
and  hoped  the  evening  would  afford  them 
some  compensation  for  their  trouble  in  coming. 
He  wore  no  goose  quill  in  his  hair  as  a  badge 
of  his  profession  ;  his  hands  were  white,  with 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.         77 

nails  of  monstrous  length,  the  careful  shaping 
and  preservation  of  which  betrayed  the  direc 
tion  of  his  vanity. 

"  Stop  a  minute,"  spoke  Rache,  as  he  was 
about  retiring ;  "  I  want  to  know  how  you  sell 
horn  ;  I  see  you  have  a  sign  out ;  if  you  '11  just 
cut  them  ere  off,"  she  said,  taking  his  hand 
familiarly,  "  I  '11  send  a  two  bushel  basket 
to-morrow  and  get  them."  And  she  folded 
her  long  silk  apron  into  a  fan,  which  she 
flirted  violently,  adding,  "What  a  good  air 
silk  does  make !" 

There  was  some  laughter,  here  and  there 
an  indication  of  surprise  or  displeasure  at  the 
creature's  impudence,  and  a  general  confu 
sion,  which  presently  subsided,  and  the  school 
master  was  discovered  in  earnest  examina 
tion  of  the  contents  of  his  desk,  and  Rache, 
with  her  apron  spread  smoothly  down,  fan 
ning  herself  with  the  torn  hat  beforemen- 
tioned,  and  the  youth  with  the  scant  dress  no 
longer  sitting,  but  standing  in  evident  ecstasy 
of  admiration  —  his  head,  as  it  were,  involun 
tarily  reaching  toward  the  bold  face  of  Mrs. 


78         MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

Graham's  hired  girl.  She  had  made  a  con 
quest,  there  was  no  doubt  about  that. 

"  The  house  will  now  please  come  to  order," 
said  the  president,  taking  the  schoolmaster's 
chair. 

Then  followed  considerable  discussion  about 
congressional  and  parliamentary  rules,  in  the 
midst  of  which  the  boys,  hitherto  whispering 
about  the  door,  made  their  entrance  :  two,  and 
three,  and  half  a  dozen,  at  a  time. 

During  this  preliminary  debate,  also,  the 
youth  with  the  black  eyes  made  himself  useful 
by  snuffing  the  candles,  a  process  requiring 
some  sleight  of  hand,  the  fingers  being  used  as 
snuffers,  and  all-out-of-doors  as  a  tray.  The 
inkstands  of  those  days  were  mostly  earthen 
or  pewter  jugs,  and  were  made  on  occasions 
of  this  kind  to  serve  as  'candlesticks.  An 
opportunity  was  offered  Rache  to  pay  back 
some  of  the  admiration  he  had  bestowed 
on  her.  "JSTow  be  careful,"  she  said,  as  he 
took  up  the  inky  candlestick  nearest  her : 
"  silk  burns  so  easy." 

The  expression  of  the  interesting  young  per- 


i\I  A  K  R  I  E  D  ,      NOT     MATED.  79 

son's  countenance  showed  that  he  felt  honored 
by  such  notice,  and  his  gratitude  was  evinced 
by  an  amiable  smile  and  a  familiar  wink. 

She  evidently  understood  him,  for  she  pro 
secuted  the  acquaintance  by  asking  how  he 
hurt  his  lingers,  one  or  two  of  which  ap 
peared  to  be  in  bandages,  and  by  recom 
mending  a  poultice  of  flaxseed  and  honey, 
which,  she  said,  had  cured  a  certain  friend  of 
hers,  after  the  doctors  had  given  him  up. 

Meantime  the  interesting  discussion  of  the 
parliamentary  rules  was  waived,  and  the  regu 
lar  exercises  of  the  evening  opened  by  an 
nouncing  the  question  for  debate :  "  Ought 
women  to  be  allowed  the  right  of  suffrage  ?" 

A  great  excitement  pervaded  the  house  when 
it  was  read,  during  which  two  or  three  per 
sons  took  the  floor  arid  began  speaking  at 
once. 

There  was  a  cry  of  "  Order !" 

"The  question  is  absurd,"  said  one,  an  old 
man,  with  thin  grey  hair,  parted  and  combed 
back  from  either  temple,  like  a  girl's ;  "  I  am 
surprised  that  gentlemen  will  admit" — 

Here  his  voice  was  drowned  by  the  sharp 


80  M  A  K  E  I  ED  ,      NOT      MATED. 

tones  of  a  youth  with  long  legs  and  a  forehead 
much  the  shape  and  size  of  a  yearling  heifer's. 
"  I  cannot  express  my  pleasure,"  he  said,  "  in 
being  permitted  to  raise  my  voice  in  favor  of 
the  feeble  and  the  downtrodden,  and  the 
beautiful."  Here  he  bowed  toward  the  ladies, 
and  then  resumed :  "  Man,  Mr.  President,  is  a 
tyrant." 

Cries  of  "  Order,"  and  "  Sit  down,"  com 
pletely  overpowered  both  disputants. 

A  controversy  as  to  who  had  rightful  pos 
session  of  the  floor  followed,  and  it  was  finally 
voted  that  both  gentlemen  should  take  their 
seats. 

"  Has  no  member  of  this  society  any  argu 
ment,  pro  or  con,  on  this  soul-stirring  topic?" 
asked  the  presiding  officer. 

"  Mr.  President,"  said  a  smooth-faced,  yel 
low-haired  person,  blushing  with  embarrass 
ment,  "  wholly  unprepared  as  I  am,  and 
unaccustomed  as  I  am  to  public  speaking,  I 
must  beg  your  indulgence  for  the  few  brief 
remarks  I  have  to  make.  "When  the  Creator, 
sir,  had  finished  this  little  world,  sir,  in  his 
usual  elegant  and  delicate  style,  sir,  he  made 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.         81 

Eden,  sir,  and  in  that  Eden  he  placed  man, 
you  know ;  and  what  did  man  do  there,  sir, 
surrounded  with  gorgeous  flowers  and  deli 
cious  fruit,  as  he  was,  sir,-  and  dressed  in  gold 
and  purple,  sir,  like  a  king  upon  his  throne  ? 
"Why,  sir,  he  —  he  —  he  "(here  the  eloquent 
young  man  dropped  his  voice),  "  he  was  kind 
o'  lonesome,  sir!  and  therefore,"  elevating 
his  tone,  "  woman  was  created ;  yes,  sir,  cre 
ated,  sir,  out  of  his  ribs,  sir ;  and  does  n't  that 
prove  that  she  is  as  good  as  he  is  ?  And  now, 
sir,  that  man,  with  his  blind,  brute  instincts, 
should  deny  her  the  right  of  suffrage,  the 
glorious  , right  for  which  our  revolutionary 
sires  fought  and  bled,  seems  to  me,  sir,  a 
wicked,  wicked  sin." 

He  paused,  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his 
face,  and  resumed  in  a  plaintive  and  pleading 
tone,  extending  one  hand  in  the  most  grace 
ful  manner  imaginable  toward  the  ladies : 
"  Look  upon  her,  gentlemen,  and  let  your 
stony  hearts  be  melted ;  how  eloquent  is  her 
persuasive  smile  !  how  dignified  and  charming 
her  every  motion!  the  C3res  of  the  gazelle  are 
dim  compared  with  hers,  and  the  nightingale's 
I* 


82  M  A  K  R  I  E  D  ,      NOT     MATED. 

note  is  hoarse  contrasted  with  her  voice.  Oh, 
gentlemen,  gentlemen  !  when  you  next  rally 
round  the  polls,  make  her  your  guiding  star, 
and  as  you  avail  yourselves  of  the  inestimable 
privilege  of  self-government,  c  look  through 
nature  up  to  nature's  God.'  With  these  few 
hasty  remarks,  Mr.  President,  I  submit  the 
subject  into  abler  hands;"  and  he  sat  down, 
quite  exhausted. 

Up  rose  a  tall,  dark  youth,  with  bushy  black 
hair,  and  a  nose  like  the  beak  of  an  eagle,  in 
another  part  of  the  room,  and  exclaimed, 
"Mr.  President,  imagine  your  mother,  sir,  on 
the  stump !"  he  spoke  in  an  irreverent  tone,  his 
head  bent  forward,  and  his  keen  grey  eyes 
fixed  on  the  distinguished  personage  he  ad 
dressed:  "just  imagine  her  babbling  forth  her 
political  notions  to  the  populace  !  There  is  no 
man,  sir  "  (here  he  placed  his  hand  where  his 
beard  should  have  been)  "  who  has  a  higher 
regard  for  woman  than  myself,  and  it  is  that  I 
honor  and  esteem  and  love  her,  that  I  would 
save  her  from  the  corrupt  influence  of  that 
public  career  'which  is  associated  with  the 
ballot-box.  Heaven  hide  from  us  the  day'' 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.         83 

(and  lie  looked  devoutly  upward)  "  when  her 
bright  eyes  shall  be  intoxicated  with  the 
applause  of  partisan  assemblages!  In  her 
proper  sphere,  the  heart  of  man  is  ever  ready 
to  do  her  homage,  but  outside  of  that,  her 
name  becomes  a  by- word.  E"o,  sir,  I  would  not 
wrong  woman  by  extending  to  her  the  right 
of  suffrage,  nor  would  I  defraud  man  of  his 
proper  sovereignty.  Look  at  the  burning 
plains  of  Mexico,  all  white  with  the  bones  of 
men  as  good  and  as  brave,  Mr.  President,  as 
the  best  and  bravest — as  you,  or  myself!  The 
heart  aches,  and  the  eye  grows  dim,  to  think 
of  the  bleeding  remnant  of  our  soldiery  revel 
ing  in  the  halls  of  the  Montezumas  !  Me  thinks 
I  can  almost  hear  the  dogs  howling  through 
the  everglades  of  Florida,  and  see  the  poor 
fugitives  making  their  last  agonizing  endea 
vors  to  escape  from  the  fangs  of  the  blood 
hounds!  These  are  glorious  and  terrible 
reflections,  Mr.  President,  and  when  I  see 
gentlemen,  right  in  the  face  of  them,  drawing 
woman  from  her  peaceful  seclusion  into  the 
vortex  of  the  polls,  and  all  the  sanguinary  " — 
"The  gentleman  is  personal,"  said  the  young 


84:        MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

man  with  the  forehead  like  that  of  a  juvenile 
inhabitant  of  the  farmyard,  half  rising. 

"  Order  !"  "  Order !"  called  many  voices. 

"  Mr.  Brown  has  the  floor,"  said  the  presi 
dent  ;  and  Mr.  Brown,  lifting  both  hands  over 
his  head,  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  judgment,  thou 
hast  fled  to  brutish  beasts,  and  men  have  lost 
their  reason  !"  And  so  he  sat  down,  concen 
trating  all  his  remaining  logic  and  eloquence 
in  a  look  of  his  grey  eyes,  which  was  thrown 
upon  the  young  Cicero  with  the  broad  fore 
head. 

"  I  rise,  Mr.  President,"  spoke  a  meek  and 
smooth-haired  man,  with,  a  thin  feeble  voice, 
his  hands  thrust  in  his  trowsers  pockets,  and 
his  eyes  on  the  floor :  "  I  rise  to  say  I  perfectly 
coincide  with  the  sentiments  of  my  friend  Mr. 
Brown,  who  has  just  spoken  with  such  distin 
guished  ability;"  and  with' this  expression  of 
his  views  he  resigned  the  floor  to  an  "  abler 
speaker." 

Then  up  rose  a  stately,  staid-looking  gentle 
man,  with  a  white  face,  grey  hair,  and  a 
fringe  of  snow-white  beard  round  a  pointed 
chin  —  slowly  rose  and  slowly  balanced  hixu 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.         85 

self  on  heel  and  toe,  his  hands  locked  behind 
him — and  proceeded  with  his  well-considered 
speech :  "  Mr.  President,  ladies  and  gentle 
men — in  my  humble  view,  though  there  has 
been  some  flourishing  of  arms,  some  flashing 
in  the  pan,  as  it  were,  there  has  been  a  total 
deficiency  of  execution,  as  yet.  This  debating 
society,  sir,  is  capable  of  giving  us  something 
like  argument ;  it  has  not  done  so,  as  yet.  I 
have  no  skill  to  enforce  my  ideas,  but  to  my 
old-fashioned  eyes  my  wife  looks  better  putting 
the  house  in  order  than  she  would  depositing 
a  vote  in  the  ballot-box.  I  do  n't  want,  gentle 
men,  to  make  myself  conspicuous  here  to 
night,  and  therefore  simply  repeat  that  I  have 
heard  no  arguments,  as  yet.  Mr.  President,  I 
think  woman's  spear  is  at  home." 

Another  speaker  took  the  floor.  He  was  a 
plethoric  person,  liaving  short  legs,  a  small 
head  set  down  between  his  shoulders,  and  little 
feet,  which,  standing  or  sitting,  he  kept  close 
together ;  each  part  of  him  seemed  lost  in 
some  other  part,  so  that  he  appeared  like  an 
oval  substance  of  some  sort,  with  one  end  or 
one  side  on  the  floor.  "  He  did  n't  know,"  he 


86         MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

said,  "what  sort  of  engagement  gentlemen 
expected ;  for  himself,  he  thought  there  had 
at  least  been  some  pretty  sharp  skirmishing. 
He  had  not  heard  the  argument  of  his  friend, 
the  first  speaker,  answered  to  his  satisfaction. 
~No  gentleman  in  the  negative  had  dared  to 
touch  that  bold  and  beautiful  illustration  of 
the  garding ;  did  any  gentleman  suppose  that 
that  crowning  piece  of  excellence,  our  mother 
Eve,  was  thrust  away  from  the  ballot-box,  and 
Cain,  the  unfeeling  murderer,  permitted  to 
vote  ?"  The  slight  elevation  which  had  been 
seen  in  that  part  of  the  room  whence  his  voice 
seemed  to  come,  suddenly  disappeared. 

But  the  remainder  of  the  high  reasoning  and 
impressive  oratory  called  forth  that  night  by 
the  great  question,  must  be  imagined.  Suffice 
it  that  the  candles  were  burnt  down  to  the  ink 
before  a  motion  for  adjournment  was  made. 
Henry  and  Annette  had,  during  the  combat, 
exchanged  whispers  once  or  twice,  with  accom 
panying  smiles  which  indicated  amicable  rela 
tions.  Yet  it  is  probable  each  felt  still  the 
distance  between  them,  and  the  necessity  of 
bridging  it  over  in  some  way;  and  as  they 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.         87 

emerged  from  candlelight  into  moonlight,  Mr. 
Graham  offered  his  arm — a  favor  which  Miss 
Furniss  accepted  with  gracious  acknowledg 
ments.  She  was  not  unaware,  however,  that 
the  little  lady  in  the  white  hood  shared  the 
gentleman's  courtesy,  and  monopolized  his 
conversation.  All  ill  humor  presently  melted 
away,  however,  before  the  momentary  excite 
ment  produced  by  an  exemplification  of  the 
new  condition  of  things  proposed  by  the 
reformers  of  society.  As  the  party  emerged 
from  the  schoolhouse,  Rache,  who  had  kept 
her  eyes  upon  the  youth  who  had  filled  the 
useful  office  of  snuffer  of  the  candles,  ap 
proached  him,  and  laying  her  hand  authorita 
tively  upon  his  own,  said,  "I  must  see  you 
home,  or  you  must  see  me  hpme ;  and  you  'd 
better  see  me  home." 

"I  hain't  no  objections,  seeing  you  want 
me  to,"  he  said  ;  and,  summoning  all  the  bra 
very  of  his  nature,  "  I  won't  do  nothing  else." 

The  twain  fell  a  little  iu  the  rear,  but  their 
conversation  was  still  overheard. 

"What  may  your  name  be?"  inquired 
Rache. 


88         MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

"Martin  Muggins,"  was  answered;  "but 
Mart,  for  short." 

"Well,  I '11  call  you  Mart." 

"  Do  n't  you  think  the  ladies  had  the  best 
of  it  ?"  inquired  Mart. 

"I  did  that.  What  did  you  think,  Mr. 
Muggins  ?" 

"  You  said  you  would  call  me  Mart." 

"Well,  then,  Mart?" 

"  I  'in  on  your  side,  of  course.  I  had  a 
notion  to  git  up  and  give  them  fellers  Jessie." 

"  Why  didn't  you,  Mart  Muggins?" 

"  Of  course  I  could  come  it  over  them ; 
but,  Raclie,  do  n't  you  wish  you  had  the  right 
of  sufferage?" 

"  I  do  n't  wish  nothin'  else." 

"  You  're  one  of  'em  ;  s'pose  we  walk  faster 
and  keep  the  grass  from  growing  under  our 
trotters." 

"  I  'm  agreed." 

"  What  do  you  say  ?" 

"Nothin,  nothin;  I  did  n't  say  nothin," 
and  checking  the  speed  of  the  youth,  she  said, 
"Mr.  Muggins,  I  '11  make  you  acquainted 
with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Graham." 


JM  A  R  E,  T  E  D  ,    NOT    MATED.         89 

Then,  breaking  into  boisterous  laughter,  the 
couple  quickened  their  pace,  and  were  soon 
out  of  view. 

Rache  and  her  protege,  or  beau,  afforded 
a  subject  of  conversation  and  fun  to  the  party 
for  the  remainder  of  their  walk. 


90  M  A  It  R  I  E  D  ,      NO  T     M  A  T  B  D 


OHAPTEE    Y. 

THE  night  was  still  and  bright  and  beauti 
ful  ;  the  white  harvest  moon  threw  the 
shadows  of  the  grapevines  against  the  wall 
and  over  the  mossy  steps,  where,  sitting  alone, 
were  Henry  Graham  and  Annette  Furniss. 
There  is  always  a  soothing  and  softening  in 
fluence  in  the  calm  of  a  summer  night.  The 
young  people  were  alone,  and  the  making  up 
of  a  quarrel  is  rarely  an  unfavorable  opportu 
nity  for  the  making  of  love.  Nevertheless 
they  talked  of  the  debating  society,  of  the  full 
moon,  of  the  cattle  lying  in  picturesque  groups 
about  the  meadow,  and  seemed  to  regard  all 
these  matters  with  a  great  deal  of  interest. 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.         91 

u  After  all,"  said  Henry,  taking  the  hand  of 
Annette  in  his  own,  "  the  scene  would  lose  its 
main  charm  if  you  were  away." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  she  replied ;  "  of 
course  the  lady  who  is  present  is  the  most 
fascinating ;  she  of  the  white  hood  made  the 
twilight  quite  delicious,  I  fancy." 

Henry  answered  just  as  she  had  expected 
him  to  answer,  that  no  one  could  make  fair 
the  twilight  or  the  night  or  the  day,  except 
herself. 

"  How  did  it  chance  that  you  took  so  much 
trouble  to  adorn  the  grounds  here  with  fruits 
and  flowers  ?  you  did  not  know  me,  and  could 
have  had  no  idea  of  giving  me  pleasure  by 
such  pains."  She  spoke  gaily,  making  some 
slight  show  of  withdrawing  the  imprisoned 
hand,  which  was  but  the  more  firmly  retained 
as  he  answered,  "  True,  I  did  not  know  you, 
but  we  all  have  an  ideal  which  governs  us  till 
the  real  ruler  makes  her  appearance ;  and  you 
have  taken  the  place  of  mine." 

The  voice  trembled  that  said  this ;  there 
was  unsteadiness  in  the  arm  that  encircled 
the  waist  of  the  girl,  and  a  real  tenderness  in 


92         MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

all  the  manner  of  the  young  farmer  as  his  lips 
touched,  and  only  touched,  her  forehead. 

"  My  dear  Hal,"  she  said  gaily,  at  the  same 
time  disengaging  herself  and  rising,  "you  play 
the  lover  admirably  ;  but  it  grows  late,  so 
some  other  time  — 

" '  I  '11  meet  you  by  moonlight  alone, 
And  there  you  shall  tell  me  the  tale.'  •' 

And  with  this  response  she  threw  him  a  kiss 
from  her  hand,  and  was  gone. 

She  had  resumed  her  old  position.  That  she 
belonged  to  herself,  and  that  Henry  belonged 
to  her,  was  perfectly  evident.  A  further  con 
fession  would,  perhaps,  not  have  displeased  her, 
but  for  a  secret  hope  she  chose  still  to  cherish. 
"  Hal  is  very  good,  and  I  like  him,"  she  may 
have  mused,  as  she  drowsed  into  sleep,  "  but 
he  is  not  Staff:  and  yet, '  a  bird  in  the  hand !' 3: 

And  Henry  listlessly  sat  on  the  mossy  steps, 
his  head  dropped  against  his  bosom,  and 
his  eyes  on  the  ground.  The  black  shadows 
of  the  grape-leaves  were  forgotten,  and  the 
distant  groups  of  cattle,  lying  in  the  soft 
waves  of  the  moonlight,  or  in  the  shadows  of 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.         93 

high  trees  with  far-reaching  limbs,  no  longer 
recalled  visions  of  romance,  or  what  he  had 
read  of  fairy-land. 

The  most  tormenting  of  all  passions  was  at 
work  in  the  heart  of  the  ambitious  dreamer, 
and  "fears,  and  hopes  that  kindle  fears," 
started  out  of  every  new  thought.  That  An 
nette  was  intellectually  his  superior  he  felt; 
that  she  did  not  dislike  him  he  knew;  but 
that  she  either  avoided  all  conversation  of 
love,  or  talked  of  it  only  in  a  jesting  tone, 
was  a  fact  full  of  painful  significance,  from 
which  nothing  could  divert  his  memory. 
Then,  too,  vexing  him  more  than  anything 
else,  there  was  the  anticipation  of  a  formidable 
rival ;  for  it  is  the  weakness  of  all  lovers  to 
suppose  every  one  must  see  with  their  eyes 
the  being  by  whom  they  are  enchanted.  The 
long  night  wore  away  in  desultory  reveries, 
and  white  breaks  along  the  eastern  clouds  told 
of  the  morning,  before  he  rose  from  the  seat 
where  she  had  left  him.  There  was  but  one 
hour  for  sleep  ;  nevertheless,  his  dreams  drew 
themselves  out  into  years ;  he  had  gone  over 
the  sea  and  traversed  many  countries,  some- 


y-i        MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

times  gaining  and  sometimes  losing  sight  of 
the  object  of  his  worship,  when  suddenly  he 
found  himself  surrounded  with  armed  men  — 
saw  a  dungeon  before  him  —  and  Stafford 

O 

leading  the  way  toward  it.  Making  a  despe 
rate  effort  to  escape,  he  awoke  ;  a  sheet  of 
bright  light  stretched  across  the  floor ;  the  sun 
was  an  hour  high. 

He  raised  the  window  and  looked  out  to 
assure  himself  that  he  was  really  safe,  and  at 
home.  A  travelling  carriage  was  at  the  door, 
and  there  seemed  some  unusual  stir  about  the 
kitchen.  He  felt  the  truth ;  Stafford  had 
arrived. 

As  the  unsceptered  Saturn  bowed  his  head 
and  listened  to  the  Earth,  his  ancient  mother, 
for  some  remaining  comfort,  so  he  looked 
down,  saw  the  flowers,  all  fresh  with  the 
morning  dew,  and,  cutting  the  rarest  and  most 
beautiful  specimens,  with  a  reckless  disre 
gard  of  their  value  and  the  pains  they  had  cost, 
the  elder  brother,  looking  haughtier  and  hand 
somer  than  ever.  That  the  bouquet  was  de 
signed  for  Annette  he  knew  instinctively,  and 
with  this  consciousness  came  a  sense  of  despair; 


M  A  PRIED,      N  0  T      M  A  T  E  D  .  95 

with  other  cowardice,  which  was  as  much 
a  result  of  shame  as  of  conviction  of  his 
inferiority.  He  remembered  all  the  boasts  he 
had  made  to  Annette  of  his  feeling  of  indiffer 
ence  in  regard  to  Stafford,  and  of  the  awe  in 
which  his  brother  lived  when  at  home ;  and 
he  knew  in  his  heart  that  it  was  he  who  feared 
Stafford,  and  not  Stafford  who  feared  him. 
He  almost  wished  he  was  dead ;  quite  wished 
his  rival  were  in  the  ends  of  the  earth  ;  wished 
that  he  had  never  seen  Annette,  or  that  he 
were  not  so  much  a  fool  as  to  love  her,  while 
she  loved  not  him  ;  and  at  last,  having  made 
a  thousand  conflicting  wishes  and  resolves,  he 
took  from  the  shelf  a  well-worn  volume  of 
Byron,  placed  it  under  his  arm,  and  left 
the  house,  unobserved  by  any  one  but 
Eache. 

That  amiable  young  woman  was  drawing 
water  from  the  well,  by  means  of  an  old- 
fashioned  sweep,  and  presented  a  most  comi 
cal  appearance  as  she  pulled  it  down,  not  by 
any  steady  process,  but  by  a  succession  of 
jumps  into  the  air. 

"  Oh,  Hal !"  she  exclaimed,  '  come  here  ;  1 


96        MARRIED,    NOT    HATED. 

want  to  tell  you  something ;  something  that 
will  make  you  as  happy  as  a  king." 

Henry  smiled,  laid  his  book  on  the  flat  stone 
at  the  well-side,  and  drew  up  the  water,  while 
the  girl  stood  twirling  a  ring,  in  which  a  red 
stone  was  set,  and  which  she  had  never  before 
been  known  to  wear.  He  rallied  her  upon 
the  possession  of  such  a  jewel,  and  asked  how 
she  came  by  it. 

"  Oh,  it  was  gave  to  me,"  bhe  replied  ;  "  not 
by  any  one  I  saw  last  night.  No,  nobody 
gave  it  to  me ;  I  stole  it  from  my  mother's 
finger  once  when  she  was  asleep." 

"  I  understand  ;  but  what  were  you  to  tell 
me?" 

She  laughed  out,  clapped  her  hands,  and 
pointed  across  the  dooryard. 

Henry  looked  and  saw  Annette,  who  was  an 
early  riser,  with  a  lovely  bouquet  in  her  hand, 
and  listening  to  Stafford  as  he  pointed  out  the 
extent  of  the  grounds. 

That  individual  recognized  his  brother, 
with  a  graceful  wave  of  his  hand,  and  a 
bow,  but  without  the  slightest  interruption  of 
his  conversation,  or  any  betrayal  of  emotion. 


•      M  A  R  E  I  E  D  ,      NOT      MATED.  97 

It  can  only  be  guessed  what  a  mingling  of 
bitterness  and  sadness  there  was  in  the  heart 
of  the  young  man,  as,  taking  up  the  volume 
of  his  favorite  poet,  he  bent  his  steps  toward 
the  deepest  and  most  secluded  groves  of 
Woodside — soothing  his  despair  with  the  re 
flection  that  Annette  would  be  pained  to  see 
him  going  away  under  the  influence  of  such 
melancholy  emotions.  But  he  deluded  him 
self;  she  did  not  think  of  him  at  all. 

Rache  had  no  assistance  about  the  breakfast 
this  morning,  as  she  had  had  sometimes  pre 
viously  ;  but  she  consoled  herself,  partly  with 
the  thought  that  Stafford  would  see  all  her 
smartness,  and  partly  with  the  consideration 
that  she  could  get  along  just  as  well  without 
Miss  IS^etty,  and  a  good  deal  better.  Stimu 
lated  a  little  by  ambition,  and  more  perhaps 
by  the  hope  of  becoming  a  housekeeper  in 
her  own  right,  before  long,  she  brought  the 
short-cakes  and  coffee  to  the  table  in  advance 
of  the  usual  time. 

"  Why,  Rache,  you  are  a  real  treasure," 
said  Stafford,  patronizingly,  as  he  seated  him 
self  at  the  table;  "I  do  n't  know  how  we 
5 


98         MARRIED,    K  o  T    M  A  T  E  D  . 

shall  keep  house  without  you,  as  I  am  told  we 
have  a  prospect  of  doing." 

She  received  the  civility  and  banter  with  a 
strange  grimace,  after  which  she  said  she  was 
a  whole  team  and  no  mistake,  and  at  the  same 
time  exhibited  the  new  ring. 

"  Ah,  that  is  genuine  paste,"  said  Stafford, 
looking  at  the  great  red  glass ;  "  where  did 
you  get  so  valuable  a  jewel?" 

"How  long  are  your  ears,  to  ask  such  a 
question  \  but  being  as  you  are  impudent 
enough  to  ask,  I  '11  tell :  we  went  to  debating 
school  last  night,  and  they  would  n't  let  me 
walk  with  them  coming  home;  so  I  went 
ahead  and  found  this  in  a  mud-hole :  I  think  ] 
see  it  shining;"  then  changing  her  laughing 
to  a  more  demure  expression,  she  said,  "I  told 
a  story :  it  w as  gave  to  me  by  my  father  on 
his  death-bed ;  oh !  they  say  he  died  the  hard 
est  !  dear  me !" 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  be  like  him  in  that 
respect,"  remarked  Stafford,  smiling  in  spite 
of  the  grimness  of  his  prophecy. 

There  was  a  sound  of  approaching  steps, 
and,  quicker  than  an  eye  could  be  turned  to 


JU  A  K  R  1  E  T)  ,      NO  T      M  A  T  ED.  99 

ward  the  door,  an  exclamation,  "  Oh,  Staffy, 
Staff}7 !  my  darling  itty,  bitty  baby !  have 
you  come  back  to  make  your  old  mammy 
glad?"  and  Mrs.  Graham  threw  her  arms 
about  her  son,  and  embraced  him,  repeating 
all  her  endearing  expletives  of  delight. 

"  Good  heavens,  mother !"  he  said,  pushing 
her  off,  "have  you  110  sense  of  propriety?" 

"  Now  mamma's  little  boy  would  n't  be 
naughty,"  she  said,  squeezing  him  in  her  arms 
again:  "Netty,  precious  little  honey  that  she 
is,  knows  I  doat  on  you,  but  T  never  told  her 
that  I  hoped  she  'd  be  your  little  wify,  some 
time,  did  I,  Netty?"  and  she  patted  the  girl 
on  the  cheek,  and  looked  in  her  face  most 
affectionately. 

Annette  colored  and  said,  "  Certainly  not." 

"Mother,"  and  Stafford  spoke  coldly  and 
authoritatively,  "I  am  ashamed  of  you;  that 
you  cannot  be  a  lady  is  certain,  but  surely 
you  can  be  more  of  a  woman,  if  you  try." 

"  Just  hear  how  he  talks  to  his  old  mammy," 
she  said,  turning  her  head  half  aside,  and 
speaking  as  if  to  invisible  attendant  witches, 
who  had  power  to  avenge  so  striking  and 


100      M  A  K  it  i  E  D  ,    NOT    MATED. 

unlooked-for  a  disrespect  and  want  of  filial 
duty. 

"  Do  n't  mind  him,  granmam ;  lie  's  a  great 
proud  good-for-nothing,  and  that  's  just  what 
he  is,"  said  Eache. 

So  began  the  first  breakfast. 

Mrs.  Graham  seemed  not  at  all  disconcerted 
after  a  moment  or  two,  by  the  arrogant  and 
assuming  behavior  of  her  son,  but  kept  all 
the  while  laughing  and  munching,  and  now 
and  then  uttering  exclamations  of  delight 
about  the  re-union. of  her  family. 

"  Scarcely  a  re-union,"  said  Stafford,  at 
length  ;  "  where  is  Hal  ?" 

"Just  as  if  you  cared!"  interposed  Eache. 

Stafford  made  no  reply,  and  Mrs.  Graham 
said  he  was  no  doubt  overcome  by  his  feel 
ings,  and  would  join  them  at  dinner. 

"  And  James,  too,  I  have  not  seen  him," 
continued  Stafford. 

The  old  woman  munched  on,  affecting  not 
to  hear. 

"  Is  he  under  treatment  now  ?"  asked  Staf 
ford. 

"  S  taffy ,  my  boy,  excuse  me  if  I  do  n't  wait. 


MARRIED,    NOT    MAT  E  n .       101 

I  have  not  been  out  of.  my  own  room  till  now 
since  Netty  came ;  she  knows  what  a  poor  old 
woman  I  am,  and  knows  my  ways  ;  every 
body  has  their  ways;''  and  with  her  most 
mincing  manner  Mrs.  Graham  departed. 

"  You  asked  about  Jim,"  said  Eache  ;  "he 
ain't  under  no  treatment  but  granmam's  that 
I  know  of.  I  saw  him  hopping  under  her 
stick,  just  when  you  were  cutting  Hal's  flowers 
for  Netty,  like  a  hen  with  her  head  cut  off." 
And  she  continued,  placing  her  mouth  close 
to  Stafford's  ear,  "A  certain  young  woman, 
whose  name  begins  with  N",  do  n't  know  there 
is  any  Jim."  And,  regardless  of  the  reprov 
ing  look  she  received,  she  talked  on  at  ran 
dom,  rising  as  soon  as  she  finished  her  meal, 
and  at  once  removing  the  dishes,  saying  as  she 
did  so,  "  Do  you  want  any  more  of  this,  or  this  ?" 

"  I  wish  Hal  was  here,"  said  Stafford,  as  he 
rose  from  the  table;  "go  and  tell  him  I  want 
him,  Eache." 

"Who  was  your  negro  waiter  last  year?" 
she  answered,  pursing  up  her  lips ;  and  after 
a  moment,  repenting,  "  What  do  you  want 
with  him?" 


102       M  A  R  K  i  K  i> ,    NOT    MATED. 

"To  carry  my  trunks  up,''  replied  Dr. 
Graham. 

"  Up  where  ?" 

"  To  my  room." 

"  It 's  more  than  I  know  where  your  room 
is;  Hal  has  the  best  room,  and  he  says  he 
shall  keep  it." 

"What  a  cursed  old  house  this  is,"  mut 
tered  Stafford;  ''excuse  me,  Miss  Furniss," 
and  he  followed  his  mother  into  her  apart 
ment. 

"  Well,  Netty,  what  do  you  think  of  Staff 
now  ?"  asked  Rache,  when  he  was  gone  ;  and 
she  went  on  to  say  that  for  her  part  she 
thought  him  as  proud  as  Lucifer,  and  that 
Hal  and  his  mother  both  feared  him  ;  but 
thank  her  stars !  she  was  not  afraid  of  any 
man. 

Whatever  Annette  thought,  she  did  not 
choose  to  say,  but  evidently  she  desired  to 
please  her  new  acquaintance,  and  when  lie 
emerged  from  his  mother's  closet  and  invited 
her  to  walk,  she  declined  on  the  pretext  that 
she  had  promised  Rache  to  assist  a  little  about 
the  house  that  day. 


M  A  Ji  R  I  K  D  ,      NO  T      M  A  T  K  D  .          103 

"You  will  get  small  thanks  from  Mr.  Staff," 
whispered  Rache,  "if  you  work  all  day  to 
make  his  room  nice." 

Brushes,  brooms,  and  dust-pans  were  brought, 
into  requisition,  and  presently  Mrs.  Graham 
appeared,  saying  that  to  please  her  dear  sonny, 
and  for  a  funny  frolic,  she  proposed  to  reno 
vate  her  own  room  a  little. 

"  Oh,  I  am  glad,"  said  Kaclie,  clapping  her 
hands,  "  it  's  fun  to  get  into  granmam's  curi 
osity  shop ;"  and,  taking  Annette  by  her 
sleeve,  she  drew  her  along. 

"Yes,  darling,  go  and  see  my  antiquities; 
and  my  little  pet,  too  ;  I  never  told  you  about 
my  little  pet." 

Perhaps  Annette  desired  to  make  herself 
useful,  but  she  wished,  also,  to  gratify  a  little 
harmless  curiosity  as  to  the  creature  Mrs. 
Graham  kept  with  her  in  her  room,  for  she 
had  often  heard  voices  there,  and  once  or  twice 
caught  glimpses  of  something  not  wholly  un 
like  a  member  of  the  human  family. 

Granmam,  as  Rache  called  her,  passed 
almost  all  the  time  within  the  compass  of  four 
narrow  walls,  doing  nothing  that  ever  made 


104:          M  A  II  HIED,      NOT      MATED. 

itself  known  or  felt  beyond  them.  She  drank 
and  slept  there,  and  since  coming  to  Wood- 
side,  Annette  had  now  seen  and  spoken  to  her 
for  but  the  second  time.  On  entering  the 
room  the  first  object  that  arrested  her  atten 
tion  was  a  deformed  child,  nine  or  ten  years 
old,  perhaps.  He  sat  upon  a  stool,  in  the 
corner,  netting  some  coarse  white  yarn.  His 
face  was  intelligent,  but  marked  with  scars, 
and  his  back  was  bent  as  if  it  had  been 
broken.  He  laughed  out  on  seeing  Annette, 
and  manifested  his  joy  in  other  childish  ways. 
He  had  rarely  seen  a  human  face,  except  the 
ugly  one  of  his  grandmother. 

"  Well,  Jim,"  said  Eache,  roughly,  lifting 
him  into  an  upright  position,  "  do  you  know 
that  me  and  this  young  woman  have  come  to 
take  you  and  put  you  in  prison  ?" 

The  boy  smiled  incredulously,  and  said  he 
thought  he  was  in  prison  now  ;  but  when  she 
took  from  her  pocket  a  piece  of  twine  and 
began  to  tie  his  hands,  he  turned  beseech- 
.  ingly  to  Annette,  not  daring  to  speak.  Just 
then  Stafford  came  in,  and  pushing  Eache 
aside,  told  the  frightened  child  he  was  not  to 


MARRIED,    NO  T    MATED.       105 

be  put  in  prison,  but  to  run  about  the  fields 
of  Woodside,  and  pull  flowers  ;  that  he  was  to 
eat  with  the  family,  and  give  his  wooden  bowl 
to  the  cats,  and  wear  trowsers  and  a  coat  like 
other  boys,  and  grow  up  to  be  a  man  one  of 
these  days.  The  little  fellow  was  quite  over 
come,  and  burying  his  face  in  the  skirt  of  his 
long  woolen  frock  (for  he  was  dressed  more 
like  a  girl  than  a  boy),  cried  piteously  of  joy 
and  surprise. 

But  Stafford  grave  him  his  knife,  and  drvinjr 

»/          O 

his  tears,  the  little  creature  went  out  into  the 
sun,  happier  than  he  had  ever  been  in  his  life. 
He  was  the  grandchild  of  Mrs.  Graham,  sub 
ject  from  his  birth  to  fits,  in  one  of  which  he 
had  fallen  in  the  fire  and  been  burned  so  that 
his  face  was  badly  scarred.  On  the  death  of 
his  parents  he  fell  into  the  hands  of  his  grand 
mother,  and  had  fared  but  hardly ;  never 
having  any  care  or  training  but  such  as  were 
dispensed  by  the  rod  ;  for  with  all  her  pretence 
of  love,  the  eld  woman  was  tyrannical  in  the 
extreme,  and  since  her  children  had  grown 
away  from  her  authority,  little  James  had 
been  the  recipient  of  all  her  cruelty.  He 


106       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

looked  strange,  inhuman  almost,  bent  down 
as  lie  was,  and  dressed  in  a  costume  so  inap 
propriate  ;  but  his  eyes  evinced  a  quick  intel 
ligence  that  belied  the  impression  at  first 
received  from  his  appearance.  He  said  little, 
and  seemed  commonly  inclined  to  be  alone. 
He  knew  nothing  except  what  his  grand 
mother  had  told  him,  and  had  seen  nothing 
except  the  meadow  and  the  woods,  and  the 
corn-fields  fronting  her  windows. 

No  wonder  he  laughed  when  he  was  per 
mitted  to  go  freely  into  the  sun  and  pick 
flowers,  and  twine  up  slender  ropes  of  grass 
with  which  to  lead  the  calves  about  the  plea 
sant  meadows. 

"  Mercy  on  us !  how  shall  we  begin  ?"  ex 
claimed  Annette,  looking  about  her  in  despair. 
At  home  the  housekeeping  had  not  been  very 
thorough,  but  "  gran  mam's  room"  was  in 
advance  of  her  experiences.  In  one  corner 
there  was  a  loom,  which,  in  her  girlhood,  had 
been  of  value  to  Mrs.  Graham,  but  which  for 
long  years  had  been  unused.  Over  the  beams 
of  this  piece  of  furniture  were  hung  her  vari 
ous  cast-off  and  extra-fine  garments,  from  the 


MARRIED,      NOT      MATED.          107 

rose-colored  wedding  dress  to  the  bombazine 
mourning  gown  worn  for  her  deceased  hus 
band  ;  and  here,  too,  were  dozens  of  hose, 
worn  past  all  mending,  remnants  of  flannel 
that  had  been  petticoats,  and  numberless 
other  articles  belonging  to  female  apparel. 
High  over  all,  as  it  was  never  used,  hung  a 
calico  sun-bonnet  belonging  to  James,  whom 
Mrs.  Graham  called  her  little  darling,  now 
that  she  had  been  induced  to  speak  of  him  at 
all. 

In  another  corner  was  a  bed,  covered  with 
a  patchwork  counterpane  and  sheets,  not  too 
clean,  and  under  and  about  the  pillows,  and 
at  the  foot,  and  under  the  sides  of  the  bed, 
were  pocket  handkerchiefs  and  aprons  and 
night-caps,  all,  as  Rache  said,  black  as  dust- 
rags.  But  beneath  it  the  collection  of  fea 
thers  and  dirt  was  frightful ;  indeed  granmam 
explained,  by  way  of  apology,  that  she  pretty 
generally  swept  the  little  litter  about  her  room 
under  the  bed :  it  saved  the  trouble  of  open 
ing  the  door.  And  here,  covered  with  such 
accumulations,  and  edged  with  mildew,  was  a 
wooden  bowl,  out  of  which  the  child  ate  bis 


108       MAKRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

bread  and  milk.  Old  bird-cages  hung  along 
the  wall,  with  bunches  of  herbs  and  seed  corn, 
bags  of  dried  fruits,  which  nobody  had  opened 
for  years,  and,  depending  from  pegs,  or  stuck 
in  cracks  here  and  there,  were  bright  feathers 
of  birds,  skins  of  moles  and  squirrels,  and 
other  curious  things,  which  Henry  had  pre 
sented  to  the  child  from,  time  to  time.  Against 
one  of  the  windows,  and  constituting  all  the 
curtain  it  had,  suspended  by  its  silver  stirrup, 
was  a  side  saddle,  which  in  its  day  had  been 
very  stylish.  The  carpet  was  threadbare,  and 
so  faded  and  dirty  that  one  color  was  scarcely 
distinguishable  from  another ;  nevertheless, 
the  dust  beneath  it  made  it  softer  than  a  new 
one,  granmam  said.  Pipes,  tobacco,  bits  of 
paper,  broken  crackers,  half-eaten  slices  of 
bread,  lumps  of  chalk,  balls  of  beeswax,  dirty 
spools  of  silk  and  twine,  a  heavy  gold  watch 
that  had  belonged  to  her  deceased  husband, 
several  pair  of  spectacles,  and  other  things 
"  too  numerous  to  mention,"  were  heaped 
together  on  the  mantelpiece,  and  overhung 
with  canopies  of  spiders'  webs. 

But   the  cupboards   presented  a  yet  more 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.        109 

forbidding  aspect.  A  collection  more  gro 
tesque  and  miscellaneous  never,  perhaps, 
challenged  human  observation.  A  cat  and 
three  kittens  reposed  comfortably  in  the  lower 
part,  on  a  cushion  covered  with  brocade, 
from  which  it  might  be  inferred  that  a  stylish 
dress  of  this  material  had  sometime  been  in 
Mrs.  Graham's  possession,  though  cast  aside 
now,  with  other  attractions  of  her  youth.  On 
the  topmost  shelf,  a  ten-years-old  bonnet 
extended  its  immeasurable  front ;  while  else 
where  were  heaped  gloves,  stiff  and  faded 
with  the  damps  of  many  seasons ;  hair-brushes, 
with  all  the  spoils  gathered  in  a  long  service  ; 
combs,  with  teeth  and  without,  in  every  vari 
ety  known  during  a  quarter  of  a  century ; 
yellow  laces  and  faded  ribbons  ;  remnants  of 
old  calicoes,  preserved  as  if  for  possible  but 
most  improbable  patchwork,  and  whatever 
else  the  careless,  lazy,  and  sellish  creature 
had  found  opportunity  of  hoarding  from  pov 
erty  or  time,  to  gloat  upon  in  the  years  she 
should  devote  to  memory  and  repentance, 
with  such  good  works  as  have  most  potency 
in  opening  the  gate  of  heaven. 


110         M  A  K  E,  I  E  D  ,      NOT      MATED. 

Now  and  then,  as  Rache  unfolded  and  shook 
vigorously  some  article  or  other,  a  bank-note 
floated  slantwise  to  the  carpet ;  or  money,  in 
silver  and  gold,  rattled  noisily  down :  so  closely 
related  sometimes  are  the  apparently  incom 
patible  habits  of  miserly  thrift  and  careless 
ness. 

"  Oh,  dingnation  take  it!"  exclaimed  Eache, 
turning  to  Annette  with  an  expression  of  de 
spair  in  her  face,  and  scraping  together  on  the 
floor  at  the  same  -time  a  quantity  of  shelled 
corn,  bits  of  finely  gnawed  linen  and  paper, 
and  broken  cobs,  among  which  for  a  long  time 
the  mice  had  luxuriated  undisturbed. 

The  room  was  by  this  time  in  as  complete 
disorder  as  it  was  possible  to  render  it,  but 
when  grandma' m  assured  her  assistants  that 
she  would  shortly  have  it  beautiful,  they  were 
quite  willing  to  leave  all  to  her  management, 
confident  that  of  dust  and  rubbish  they  had 
insured  the  removal  of  at  least  half  a  year's 
accumulations.  Other  parts  of  the  house  now 
demanded  their  invasion.  The  presence  of 
Stafford  was  a  signal  of  general  internal  revo 
lution. 


MAKKIED,    NOT    MATED.       Ill 

Rache  was  directed  to  remove  Henry's  things 
up  another  pair  of  stairs  ;  that  is,  to  prepare  a 
cot-bed  for  him,  and  to  make  the  room  he  had 
occupied  as  nice  as  could  be,  for  the  new  master. 

"  And  you,  dear,"  said  the  old  woman,  pat 
ting  the  cheek  of  Annette  with  her  skinny 
hand,  "go  and  find  my  little  pet  Jimmy,  I 
want  him  to  carry  out  the  ashes ;  do  n't  you 
think  Staffy  said  there  was  enough  to  bury  me 
in?" 

Annette  smiled  to  see  how  the  fire-place  was 
heaped  full,  and  the  hearth  quite  overspread, 
as  she  went  in  search  of  James,  but  without 
any  intention  of.fulfilling  her  commission.  The 
cripple  child  started  as  he  saw  her  and  crouched 
under  the,  flowers,  among  which  he  had  been 
sitting ;  but  when  she  spoke  kindly,  he  looked 
up,  and  begged  that  she  would  not  strike  him, 
saying  he  would  go  back  and  do  whatever 
grandma'm  wished. 

"And  do  you  like  to  work  for  grandma'm  ?" 
asked  Annette. 

"  I  do  n't  know,"  he  said  ;  "  I  expect  I  like  it 
well  enough,  if  she  would  n't  whip  me." 

"And  what  do  you  do  for  her?" 


112          M  A  K  K  I  E  D  ,      NOT      M  A  T  E  D  . 

"  Tie  up  her  shoes  and  wash  her  night-caps, 
and  roast  the  potatoes,  and  wash  the  dishes,  all 
but  my  bowl,  and  that  I  do  n't  wash,  without  I 
please." 

"  But  why  do  n't  your  grandma'm  eat  with 
the  family  ?" 

"  Her  own  room  is  best,  she  says  ;  that 's  all 
I  know." 

"Do  you  like  her?" 

"  I  expect  so,  when  she  ain't  cross." 

"Do  you  like  any  one  else?" 

"  Yes,  uncle." 

"  What  makes  you  like  him  ?" 

"  'Cause  he 's  good  to  me,  and  gives  me 
things ;  and  once  he  said  if  it  was  n't  for  gran- 
ma'm  he  'd  tear  this  old  frock  into  ribbons." 

"And  don't  you  like  uncle  Staff?" 

"  Xo,  I  expect  I  do  n't." 

"  Why  ?  he  was  good  to  you  this  morning." 

"  Yes,  but  that  was  n't  'cause  he  liked  me,  it 
was  just  to  be  against  granma'm.  But  uncle 
Hal  comes  at  night,  when  its  cold,  and  brings 
me  kivers  from  his  bed." 

The  flowers  blew  against  his  face,  and  as  he 
told  of  the  goodness  of  his  uncle  Hal,  the 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       113 

infantile  expression  grew  more  intelligent,  and 
Annette  felt  affection  mingling  with  pity  as 
she  £azed  on  him. 

o 

"Shall  I  kiss  yon  before  I  go?"  she  asked, 
as  Rache,  looking  from  an  Tipper  window, 
called  to  her. 

"  Oh  no,"  said  the  boy,  hiding  his  face  in 
the  woolen  frock  he  wore ;  "  I  hav'  n't  done 
nothing." 

"  Poor  child  !"  said  Annette,  "  putting  her 
arm  around  him  and  kissing  him,  "  did  no  one 
ever  kiss  yon  before  ?" 

"  Not  that  way,"  he  said,  the  tears  gathering 
to  his  eyes;  and  looking  back,  she  saw  his 
head  over  the  tops  of  the  flowers,  and  heard 
him  say  she  was  a  great  deal  prettier  than 
either  Rache  or  grandma'm. 

Henry's  room  was  more  cleanly  than  his 
mother's,  bnt  in  other  respects  was  quite  as 
curious.  Books  of  poems,  stones  of  strange 
shapes  and  bright  colors,  live  birds  and  dead 
fnsects,  snakes  in  liquor,  pots  of  flowers,  and 
human  skulls,  the  property  of  Dr.  Stafford, 
were  mingled  together;  the  carpet  lay  loosely 
on  the  floor,  without  being  tacked  down  ;  and 


114       MAKKIED,    NOT    MATED. 

the  furniture,  generally,  placed  anywhere  and 
everywhere  but  in  its  proper  places. 

Rache  was  busy  carrying  the  flowers  into 
the  room  where  she  had  arranged  the  cot-bed, 
when  Stafford  presented  himself,  and  said  it 
was  his  pleasure  to  have  them  left  where  they 
were.  Henry  had  taken  good  care  of  them 
while  he  had  been  away,  and  he  would  give 
him  a  slip  or  two  if  he  desired. 

Some  of  the  oldest  furniture  was  then  taken 
out,  and  newer  brought  in  its  stead.  Even 
Mrs.  Graham's  room  lost  a  rocking-chair,  and 
the  parlor  some  pictures  and  a  sofa,  in  the 
preparation  of  Stafford's  chamber.  Henry's 
slippers  and  some  other  articles  of  personal 
comfort  were  appropriated  by  him  without  the 
least  scruple,  and  as  if  he  conferred  a  favor  by 
making  use  of  them. 

Though  to  Annette  his  manner  was  gracious 
and  smiling,  she  could  have  seen  plainly 
enough,  if  she  would,  that  his  real  disposition 
was  selfish,  tyrannical,  and  haughty. 

"  Just  corne  and  see  how  nicely  old  gran- 
ma'm  has  fixed  up  her  room,"  presently  called 
Mrs.  Graham ;  and  Eache  and  Annette  de- 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       115 

scended ;  but  Stafford  remained,  saying  lie 
was  content  with  the  picture  of  fancy. 

In  what  way  the  disposition  of  things  had 
been  improved  it  was  impossible  to  tell,  as 
they  appeared  to  have,  been  replaced  in  greater 
disorder  than  before.  True,  there  had  been  a 
removal  of  a  portion  of  the  rubbish  and  the 
dirt,  but  of  odds  and  ends,  worn  out  garments, 
and  every  species  of  riff-raff  that  one  might 
dream  of  seeing  in  a  witch's  cell,  there  re 
mained  still  more  than  sufficient  to  crowd  each 
shelf,  and  corner,  and  all  the  floor,  under  the 
bed  and.  about  it ;  and  if  Annette  had  been 
addicted  to  such  quotations,  she  would  have 
exclaimed,  as  she  looked  in  the  door  where 
the  old  woman  stood  with  her  cap  and  every 
part  of  her  dress  browned  with  the  settling 
dust  they  had  disturbed,  and  a  purring  cat, 
with  tail  erect,  marshaling  a  litter  of  kittens  at 
her  feet,  "  Surely,  <  chaos  has  come  again.' ' 

The  sun  had  been  gone  down  an  hour,  and 
the  family  sat  at  the  tea-table,  when  Henry, 
whom  no  one  had  missed  or  inquired  for, 
returned;  an  expression  of  deep,  profound 


116       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

dejection  was  on  his  face,  and  the  volume  of 
poems  still  beneath  his  arm. 

"Just  take  one  of  those  trunks  with  you," 
said  Stafford,  as  he  passed  through  the  tea 
room  on  the  way  to  his  own  ;  and  this  was  the 
first  time  he  had  spoken  to  him  since  his  com 
ing  home.  Henry  made  no  reply,  but  took  up 
the  trunk  as  directed  and  set  it  down  where 
Stafford  had  expected.  For  a  few  minutes  he 
busied  himself  in  removing  such  books  as  he 
especially  valued  to  his  upper  chamber ;  and 
if  he  felt  displeasure,  he  manifested  none. 
When  he  returned,  no  one  except  Eache  no 
ticed  him  or  made  room  for  him  at  the  table. 
In  truth,  both  Mrs.  Graham  and  Annette  were 
too  much  absorbed  in  Stafford's  narration  of 
the  wonderful  exploits  he  had  performed,  to 
think  of  any  thing  else.  All  the  dangers  he 
had  ever  known,  and  perhaps  some  he  had  not 
known,  were  crowded  into  half  an  hour,  and 
when  he  had  as  amply  as  possible  set  forth  his 
courage,  he  fell  back  on  his  professional  dio-- 
nity,  and,  unlocking  a  polished  rosewood  case, 
examined  and  displayed  the  various  surgical 


MARKIED,    NOT    MATED.       117 

instruments  it  contained,  trying  their  edges 
with  his  fingers,  and  rubbing  them  with  his 
pocket  handkerchief. 

"  There,'1  said  Rache,  laughing,  as  she  sur 
veyed  him  with  impudent  coolness,  "I  think 
Annette  has  seen  them  all ;  you  may  as  well 
put  'em  back  in  your  little  bureau,  or  what 
ever  you  call  it." 

The  blush  grew  crimson  in  his  cheek,  as 
Henry's  ill-suppressed  smiles  evinced  the  exult 
ation  he  felt  at  this  more  rude  than  unjust 
reproof  of  his  vanity  ;  but  his  reply,  whatever 
it  would  have  been,  was  cut  short,  for  Kache 
suddenly  sprang  from  the  table,  catching  one 
foot  in  the  skirts  of  Annette,  and  upsetting  a 
footstool  in  her  way,  as  two  or  three  vigorous 
strokes  of  the  axe  at  the  wood-pile  expressed 
to  her  ears*  a  peculiar  and  alarming  meaning. 

"Lord-a-marcy !"  said  Mrs.  Graham,  "is  it 
my  little  pet?  I'd  quite  forgot  him." 

"  No,  it  is  not,"  answered  Rache,  "  it 's  a 
great  big  nigger  man  ;  it  ain't  nobody  ;  the 
axe  is  just  chopping  of  its  own  accord." 

"I guess  it's  somebody  that  gave  somebody 
a  ring  last  night,"  said  Annette,  laughing. 


118       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

"  "Well,  it  is,"  replied  Rache,  skipping  out 
into  the  moonlight ;  and,  seated  on  the  log,  the 
new  acquaintances  remained  in  happy  conver 
sation  for  an  hour. 

Having  drank  a  cup  of  tea,  Henry  took  in 
his  arms  the  huge  trunk  that  remained, — partly 
by  way  of  exhibiting  his  strength,  perhaps, — • 
and  carried  it  away. 

'''  I  wish  my  brother  were  not  a  fool,"  said 
Stafford,  following  him  with  a  look  of  con 
tempt;  "and  that  reminds  me  of  Jim — poor 
deformed  little  wretch — has  nobody  gone  to 
see  after  him  ?" 

Now  there  was  no  one  to  go,  as  he  well 
knew,  his  mother  having  gone  to  her  own 
room,  and  Henry  up  stairs. 

Affecting  the  greatest  concern  for  the  child, 
and  manifesting  a  deal  of  displeasure  at  the 
indifference  of  his  mother  and  Henry,  he  called 
to  the  latter  and  directed  him,  if  he  had  a 
spark  of  humanity  in  him,  to  make  some  search 
for  his  poor  deformed  nephew.  This  done,  he 
seated  himself  composedly  and  proposed  a 
game  with  cards. 

An  hour  elapsed,  and  they  were  deep  in  the 


I 

MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       119 

game — lie  and  Annette — when  Rache  ran  into 
the  room  crying  so  loud  that  she  might  have 
been  heard  half  a  mile  away,  followed  by 
Henry,  bearing  in  his  arms  little  James,  white 
and  cold.  In  one  stiffened  hand  he  held  some 
flowers,  and  his  hair  and  woolen  frock  hung 
heavy  with  the  dew. 

"  Died  in  a  fit,  I  suppose,"  said  Stafford ; 
"  carry  him  away;  and  Rache?  do  ii't,  for  hea 
ven's  sake,  scare  the  owls.  Miss  Furniss,  what 
is  the  trump?  or  shall  we  give  it  up?  This 
disagreeable  affair,  I  think,  might  have  hap 
pened  some  other  time." 

Annette  turned  her  eyes  from  Stafford  to 
Henry,  and  saw  his  lips  quiver,  and  tears  on 
his  cheeks ;  saw  him  stoop  and  kiss  the  rigid 
face  of  the  dead  boy  ;  and,  throwing  down  her 
cards,  arose  and  followed  him.  They  laid  him 
on  the  bed,  and  Henry  combed  smooth  his 
hair,  untied  his  woolen  dress,  and  wrapped 
him  in  a  white  sheet,  performing  all  the  sud 
den  and  sad  duties  of  the  occasion  with  an 
unaffected  melancholy,  which  even  overcame 
for  the  time  his  consciousness  of  the  inhuman 
ity  of  the  rest  of  the  family. 


120       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

"  He  is  better  off,"  said  the  old  woman, 
drawing  her  roasted  potatoes  from  the  fire  ;  "  we 
ought  not  to  wish  him  back  ;"  and  seating  her 
self  on  an  old  trunk  in  the  corner,  she  munched 
her  food,  saying  she  had  nothing  to  reproach 
herself  for,  as  she  knew  of;  she  had  always 
done  her  duty. 

"Yes,  granmam,  and  more  too," interrupted 
Rache,  slipping  a  rod  from  beneath  the  bed 
clothes,  and  breaking  it  spitefully  to  pieces. 
"  Poor  Jim !"  she  said,  as  she  drew  tenderly 
over  his  stiffened  feet  a  pair  of  warm  wool 
stockings  that  she  had  knitted  for  herself,  "  ] 
wish  I  had  not  been  so  ugly  to  him,  but  I  never 
felt  how  I  loved  him  till  he  was  dead  as  a 
door  nail,  that  I  did  n't.  Hal,"  she  continued, 
"you'll  put  something  pretty  on  his  grave 
stone,  and  don't  write  his  name  what  he  was 
always  called,  'Jim  Graham,'  but  write  it 
1  James/  and  let  him  for  once  be  made  of,  a 
little. 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       121 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  funeral  day  was  lonesome  enough  at 
Woodside,  not  that  the  poor  little  boy  was 
much  missed ;  how.  could  he  be  ?  but  the  coffin 
and  the  shroud,  and  the  solemnity^  burial, 
even  when  the  meanest  or  the  lowliest  dies, 
leave  mournful  impressions  on  the  hearts  of 
all  whom  chance  or  necessity  compels  to  see 
them. 

There  was  no  regular  funeral  service,  but 
the  coffin  was  placed  in  the  parlor,  by  the  open 
window,  and  a  "reverend  good  old  man"  read 
a  chapter  from  the  Bible,  and  prayed  fervently 
that,  in  the  morning  of  the  resurrection,  the 
crooked  branch  might  be  made  straight. 

Mrs.  Graham  said  it  was  "such  a  dreadful 
thing  to  take  leave  of  the  corpse"  she  felt 
6 


122       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

quite  unequal  to  it,  and  so  remained  in  her 
own  room  and  roasted  her  potatoes,  as  usual. 

"I  always  did  hate  a  funeral,"  said  Stafford, 
"but  how  the  devil  will  it  look  if  I  am  absent !" 
So,  at  the  latest  moment  he  presented  himself, 
dressed  precisely,  and  with  a  becomingly  seri 
ous  air. 

A  few  women  of  the  neighborhood  came  in, 
some  with  babies  in  their  arms,  to  whom,  as 
they  saw  the  coffin,  they  said,  softly,  that  a 
poor  little  boy  was  dead,  and  to  be  buried  in 
the  ground,  and  never  seen  any  more. 

Many  men  were  at  work  mending  the  road 
that  day,  and,  as  they  came  opposite  the  house, 
Rache  seated  herself  conspicuously  at  the  wia- 
dow  and  cried,  in  the  hope  of  attracting  theii 
attention;  nor  was  her  behavior  altogethei 
hypocrisy;  she  did  but  what  she  thought  hei 
duty. 

Hearses  were  not  in  use  in  the  country  at 
that  time,  and  the  wagon  in  which  Henry 
went  to  market  served  for  carrying  the  dead  to 
the  grave. 

Stafford,  pushing  his  brother  aside,  assisted 
Annette  into  the  family  carriage,  and  seated 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       123 

himself  beside  her,  leaving  Henry  to  find  what 
means  of  conveyance  he  could. 

A  few  men  and  boys  followed,  some  on  foot 
and  three  or  four  on  horseback,  and  the  pro 
cession  m  )ved  slowly  forward. 

It  was  on  a  hill  of  the  AVoodside  farm,  half 
covered  with  trees,  and  half  lying  open  to  the 
sun,  that  the  child's  grave  was  made,  and  none 
but  the  tears  of  Rache  fell  over  the  clods  that 
covered  him. 

Mrs.  Graham  often  talked  about  her  little 
pet  and  said  he  was  all  the  comfort  poor  old 
grandma'm  had  ;  but  Rache  insisted  that  "  the 
old  woman  did  not  take  it  hard  at  all." 

Some  weeks  passed,  and  Miss  Furniss  still 
remained  at  Woodside ;  and  all  went  on  as 
monotonously,  but  discordantly,  as  in  such  a 
family  might  have  been  anticipated.  Henry 
Graham  was  busy  with  harvests  and  markets, 
but  when  at  the  house,  whatever  his  demeanor, 
evidently  not  altogether  master  of  that  passion 
which  had  seemed  so  hopeless  since  Stafford 
Graham's  return.  And  Stafford  Graham — 
daily  repeated  himself — re-performed  the  char 
acter  in  wliicb  Annette  had  first  seen  him,  with 


124       MARRIED,    NO  r    MATED. 

variations.  She  perfectly  understood  him,  and 
yet  was  strangely  under  his  influence,  not  so 
much  on  account,  of  any  fascination  which  he 
exercised,  as  in  consequence  of  her  own  exper 
iments  upon  his  temper,  which  had  involved 
her  in  meshes  meant  only  for  his  subjection  to 
her  will. 

"I  tell  you,  Netty,  it's  all  lost  time,"  said 
the  ever-meddling  little  housekeeper,  springing 
as  it  were  out  of  the  ground,  for  she  always 
appeared  when  and  where  you  least  expected 
her ;  "  Staff  likes  to  talk  with  you  well  enough,' 
but  I've  seen  him  talk  before,  and  he  won't 
marry  you  more  than  he  will  me,  for  all  you 
stick  flowers  in  your  hair  and  try  to  look 
pretty." 

"  Keally,  Kache,  you  do  n't  understand  your 
position,"  answered  Annette,  not  a  little  dis 
pleased. 

"Well,  I  understand  yours  ;"  and  making  a 
sudden  jump,  as  if  to  catch  something,  she 
exclaimed,  "  there  he  goes !  with  his  great  big 
eyes  ;  oh,  I  could  cut  his  ears  off!  He  ain't 
no  more  a  doctor  than  you  be,"  she  continued; 
"I  guess  IVo  cooked  mutton  for  him,  and  I 


MAERIED,    NOT    MATED.       125 

ought  to  know.  Now,  if  lie  do  n't  eat  the 
most — twice  as  much  as  Henry — twice  as 
much !" 

Annette  could  not  forbear  smiling  at  a 
conclusion  thus  drawn,  even  though  some  of 
Rachel's  suggestions  had  stung  her  a  little. 

"  Just  look  how  straightly  he  walks,  as  if  he 
did  n't  see  us ;  he  thinks  he  '11  make  us  feel 
bad,  gracious  sakes  help  him,  as  if  any  body 
cared  for  Stafford  Graham  !" 

And  gathering  her  hands  fall  of  j^jppies  and 
marigolds,  she  retreated  toward  the  kitchen, 
singing  to  a  tune  of  her  own, 

"  She  braided  a  wreath  for  her  silken  hair."         • 

"  She  was  right  about  his  seeing  us,"  thought 
Annette,  as  she  observed  Stafford  slowly  walk 
ing  among  the  distant  trees  as  though  uncon 
scious  of  every  thing  but  himself  in  the  world. 
"  If  he  thinks  to  pique  me,  he  is  mistaken." 
And  rising,  she  turned  into  a  path  leading 
through  the  rear  grounds  and  presently  joined 
Henry,  who  with  his  dogs  and  gun  was 
returning  home  from  a  fowling  excursion.  It 
was  in  the  evening  twilight,  and  the  barn-yard 


126       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

was  full  of  cows  and  calves,  and  on  the  stile, 
dividing  it  from  the  dooryard,  the  hunter  seated 
himself,  and  throwing  his  game  at  his  feet, 
smiled  to  Annette  his  invitation  to  a  place 
"beside  him. 

A  pair  of  beautiful  white  oxen  drew  near 
and  struck  their  horns  against  the  stile ;  the 
cows  gathered  gently  around,  for  they  had 
been  used  to  his  caresses  and  feeding ;  and  the 
dogs  now  laid  their  heads  on  his  knees,  and 
now  snuffed  about  his  feet ;  he  had  never 
looked  so  well  as  with  such  surroundings,  sit 
ting  in  the  twilight,  his  face  aglow,  and  his 
hair  blowing  loose  in  the  wind. 

After  a  few  commonplaces,  the  conversation 
turned  upon  Stafford,  of  whom  both  were 
thinking. 

"  He  is  my  brother,"  said  Henry,  "  and  con 
sequently,  I  must  suffer  his  impositions,  I  sup 
pose  ;  but  I  scarcely  dare  speak  to  him,  lest  I 
should,  before  I  know  it,  say  what  I  think. 
Pity  he  has  n't  sufficient  ability  to  take  care 
of  himself,"  he  continued,  as  if  all  his  own  toil 
and  subserviency  were  induced  only  by  a  gen 
erous  sympathy. 


MAEKIED,    NOT    MATED.       127 

A  footstep  was  heard,  and  Stafford  was  seen 
approaching,  but  apparently  without  observing 
them. 

"There  he  comes!"  said  Henry;  "do  for 
heaven's  sake,  Miss  Furniss,  remain  with  me, 
so  I  may  not  address  or  treat  him  as  I  ought 
not.  I  am  afraid  to  trust  myself  with  him 
alone." 

Annette  seated  herself  near  him,  though  she 
was  perfectly  aware  that  he  only  feared  Staf 
ford,  and  wished  to  be  shielded  from  him. 
But  though  complying  with  his  wishes,  mo 
tives  far  different  from  any  which  might  be 
suggested  by  his  interests  influenced  her. 
She  would  seem  as  indifferent  to  the  young 
surgeon  as  he  would  to  her.  She  spoke  to 
Henry  in  a  low  tone,  as  if  their  conversation 
were  specially  confidential;  and  as  she  became 
aware  of  Stafford's  near  approach,  took  from 
lier  hair  a  flower  which  he  that  morning  had 
given  her,  pulled  it  carelessly  to  pieces  and 
threw  it  on  the  ground. 

"  So,  Miss  Annette,  you  prize  my  flower 
lightly.  Nay,  then  I  am  indeed  unblest."  And 
with  this  sentimental  jest  he  seated  himself 


128       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

laughingly  beside  her,  evidently  no  jot  dis 
turbed  about  the  slighted  gift.  She  folded  her 
hands  tightly  together  and  conversed  with 
Henry,  with  well  affected  delight.  She  spoke 
of  the  many  pleasant  times  they  had  had 
together — walking  in  the  moonlight,  or  mak 
ing  hay.  But  Stafford  whistled  to  the  dogs, 
and  played  with  them,  now  and  then  offering 
some  observation  quite  foreign  to  the  subject 
which  appeared  to  occupy  her  thoughts. 

At  length  she  said,  turning  her  black  lus 
trous  eyes  upon  him,  "I  am  taking  leave  of 
Woodside  to-night." 

"Ah,  ha!"  he  replied,  in  the  lively  tone  in 
which  he  had  previously  been  speaking,  "  do 
you  leave  us  so  soon  ?  I  am  sorry." 

One  of  the  dogs  had  taken  a  bird  and,  hold 
ing  it  in  his  mouth,  playfully  offered  it  him. 
He  had  not  noticed  them  before,  and,  turning 
to  Henry,  made  some  severe  remarks  on  this 
unnecessary  cruelty,  saying  there  would  not 
be  a  bird  left  in  Woodside  another  year. 

The  face  of  Henry  grew  scarlet,  and  his 
voice  was  unsteady,  as  he  said  something  about 
having  killed  them  for  a  sick  lady  ;  and 


M  A  K  R  i  E  D  ,    HOT    MATED.       129 

hastily  taking  them  up,  he  slipt  noiselessly 
away. 

"I  hope  you  despise  fowling  and  fowlers?" 
said  Stafford,  resuming  the  conversation. 

"  No,"  answered  Annette,  who  would  have 
disagreed  with  him  on  any  subject;  "I  like 
both,  and  am  sorry  I  leave  Woodside  as  the 
season  for  shooting  begins." 

"Then,  you  are  really  going,"  he  said,  look 
ing  in  another  direction. 

o 

"Yes,  Dr.  Graham,  I  am  really  going — I 
think  it 's  time  I  'd  gone." 

"  Of  course  you  know  your  own  affairs  best, 
and  why  it  is  time  for  you  to  go  home,"  he 
said,  twirling  his  watch-chain  as  if  in  the  high 
est  spirits,  and  looking  from  her  as  before, 
"  but  I  wish  you  were  going  to  remain  here  as 
long  as  I :  who  the  deuce  shall  I  find  to  talk 
to  when  you  are  away  ?" 

"  I  do  n't  know,"  she  answered  drily ;  "  I 
hope  some  one."  She  certainly  expected  her 
announcement  to  make  a  more  serious  impres 
sion. 

"  I  guess  we  shall  lose  Rache,  too,"  he  said, 
laughing,  "just  look  there  !"  At  another  time 
6* 


130       MAKKIED,    NOT    MATED. 


Annette  would  have  laughed  too ;  for,  with 
one  arm  resting  on  the  shirt-sleeve  of  Martin, 
and  a  wreath  of  poppies  and  marigolds  about 
her  head,  came  the  little  woman,  treading 
down  the  burrs  with  her  bare  feet,  apparently 
without  any  inconvenience. 

"  It 's  only  a  little  word,"  said  the  ambitious 
young  man,  "  but  it  would  make  a  big  heap  of 
happiness  for  this  child ;  come,  Rache,  won't 
you  say  just  that  one  little  word?" 

They  walked  close  in  the  shadow  of  the  bean- 
vines,  and  Rache,  for  once,  seemed  demure  and 
particularly  intent  on  treading  down  the  burrs. 

"  As  true  as  I  live  and  breathe  the  breath 
of  life,"  urged  the  lover,  holding  the  hand  of 
Rache  in  his,  "  I  kind-a  have  a  feeling  for  you 
that  I  never  afore  had  for  a  young  lady  of  your 
sex — and  if  you  '11  just  say  it !" 

Rache  made  a  sudden  movement,  indicative 
of  fright  or  pain. 

"Oh,  thunderation!"  exclaimed  Martin, 
clasping  his  arm  around  her,  "  did  you  see  a 
snake,  or  tread  in  a  bumble-bee's  nest  ?" 

What  she  said  was  inaudible,  but  she  proba 
bly  indicated  that  a  party  was  within  hearing, 


MAKKIED,    NOT    MATED.       131 

for  the  twain  quickly  emerged  from  the  sha 
dows  of  the  bean- vines  into  the  open  light, 
talking  very  loudly  and  distinctly  as  they 
passed  on. 

"He  is,  as  I  was  saying  when  we  stood  there 
in  the  wines,"  said  Mart,  "  the  closest  man  I 
ever  worked  for  —  mean  enough  to  steal  the 
coppers  off  the  eyes  of  a  dead  man." 

"  It 's  hardly  creditable  to  believe,"  said 
Rache,  "  and  I  thought,  when  you  told  me, 
coming  along  just  now,  that  such  clos't  men 
ought  to  be  scarce  as  hen  teeth." 

"You  do  beat  all  for  jokes,"  said  Martin; 
"  I  'd  like  to  have  you  show  me  a  hen  tooth." 

"  Oh,  I  ain't  no  ways  funny,"  answered  the 
girl,  and  passing  over  the  stile  they  entered 
the  milk  yard  ;  and  Rache,  having  shown  the 
heifer,  which  she  said,  maybe  some  time  would 
be  her  cow — if  she  was  ever  married  and  ever 
wanted  a  cow,  but  she  did  n't  expect  she  ever 
would  be — they  passed  on  their  way  to  visit 
some  more  secluded  place  for  wooing. 

"  Can't  we  get  another  glimpse?"  said  Staf 
ford,  climbing  to  the  top  of  the  stile,  in  high 
glee. 


132       M  A  K  K  i  E  D  ,    N  or    MATED. 

"  Poor  simple  children,"  said  Annette,  as 
though  she  pitied  any  body  who  condescended 
to  love  and  marry;  "I  am  sure  I  see  nothing 
to  laugh  at." 

"Ah,  Annette,"  returned  Stafford,  still  good 
humorediy,  "  I  am  quite  too  frivolous  for  you 
to-night ;  I  regret  my  inability  to  interest  you," 
and  kissing  his  hand  to  her,  he  whistled  his 
dogs  and  set  off  for  a  moonlight  ramble. 

For  half  an  hour  Miss  Annette  continued  to 
sit  where  he  left  her,  sometimes  more  than  half 
disposed  to  tears,  and  sometimes  reproaching 
herself  for  having  let  go  the  bird  in  the  hand 
and  found  none  in  the  bush ;  for  she  felt  that 
Henry  had  of  late  grown  strangely  indifferent 
to  her  flirtation  with  Stafford.  Often  in  the 
evenings  he  was  from  home,  and  sometimes 
she  had  seen  him  taking  flowers ;  but  till  now 
she  had  not  seriously  construed  his  intentions. 
He  had  grown  melancholy  and  thoughtful,  too, 
and  given  much  of  his  time  to  the  improve 
ment  of  the  grave-yard  where  the  deformed 
child  was  buried ;  set  it  thick  with  trees ; 
planted  roses  against  the  wall  of  stone  that 
enclosed  it ;  and  cut  the  turf  smooth :  in  this 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       133 

work  seeming  to  find  his  best  pleasure.  Of 
late  liis  absences  from  home  were  frequent  and 
prolonged,  and  a  general  impression  prevailed 
that  he  was  going  to  be  married,  though 
none  could  tell  of  the  object  of  his  affections. 

"Week  after  week  Annette  found  excuses  to 
remain,  notwithstanding  the  intention  she  had 
expressed  of  going  home,  and  the  season  was 
worn  into  the  middle  of  August. 

One  hot  Saturday  morning  Rache  announced 
her  purpose  of  going  to  town,  saying  to  "gran- 
ma'm"  she  would  like  to  have  a  little  bit  of 
money,  if.  she  had  it,  but,  if  not,  it  made  no 
difference :  she  did  n't  suppose  she  should  buy 
any  thing. 

"  La,  child !"  replied  the  old  woman,  "  what 
put  that  into  your  head  ?''  and  climbing  upon  a 
chair,  she  took  from  one  of  the  old  bonnets  on 
the  upper  shelf  a  handful  of  bank  notes,  and 
saying  she  guessed  she  had  paid  her  some  time 
along  in  March,  counted  the  money,  a  dollar 
and  a  quarter  for  each  wreek,  until  August; 
and  without  further  comment,  seated  herself 
and  took  up  her  netting,  which  was  never 
finished,  and  would  have  been  useless  if  it  had 


134:       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

been.  Having  no  longer  any  slave  of  her 
caprices,  and  her  children  treating  her  with 
indifference,  she  had  grown  taciturn,  and  lived 
in  reverie  and  vague  speculation. 

Rache  was  soon  smartly  dressed  and  set  out 
on  a  brisk  walk,  stating  that  she  was  going  to 
town  with  a  neighbor,  who  was  to  carry  a  calf 
to  market,  and  who  could  as  well  take  two  as 
one. 

At  night-fall  she  returned,  bringing  with 
her  only  a  calico  dress  and  some  shoes,  having 
kept  the  rest  of  her  money,  she  said,  for  some 
time  of  need.  The  following  day  she  did  the 
washing,  and  went  through  with  her  ordinary 
labors  all  the  while  for  a  month.  Martin  still 
visited  her,  but  was  grown  bold  enough  to 
walk  into  the  kitchen. 

"Well,  Rache,"  said  Stafford,  on  the  occa 
sion  of  one  of  these  visits,  "  when  are  you  going 
to  get  married  ?" 

"  JSText  day  after  never,"  she  answered. 

Martin  overheard  the  question,  and  remark 
ed  that  "  there  was  one  woman  in  the  world 
that  could  keep  a  secret,"  and  concluded  with, 
"Rache,  you  may  tell  it  if  you  want  to." 


MAKE i ED,    NOT    MATED.       135 

"  There  !  "  she  cried,  "  you  've  untied  the 
bag,  so  you  may  as  well  let  the  cat  out." 

"Ay,  Mart,  I  see  it,"  observed  Stafford, 
"  you  've  taken  this  woman  to  wife  !  Come, 
isn't  it  so?" 

"About  a  month  ago,"  said  Martin,  biting 
his  nails  and  looking  down,  "a  young  man 
and  woman  from  the  South  went  to  town  and 
stopped  at  the  'Squire's  and  got  tied, -and  I 
expect  like  enough  it  was  me  and  Eache ;  we 
are  big  enough  fools  to  do  it,  I  reckon." 

Much  merriment  followed  this  announce 
ment,  and  before  it  subsided.  Henry,  who  had 
been  absent  all  the  previous  night,  came  in, 
looking  very  grave ;  but  he  spoke  kindly,  even 
to  Stafford,  who  rallied  him  on  his  funereal 
visage,  and  having  given  a  letter  into  the  hand 
of  Annette,  retired,  apparently  in  deep  emo 
tion.  The  missive  was  from  Nelly  Furniss, 
who  had  been  slowly  failing  and  fading  .all  the 
summer,  and  who  was  now,  as  she  said,  near 
the  end  of  her  little  and  troubled  journey. 
She  had  not  told  Annette,  in  any  of  her  notes 
or  messages,  or  at  their  two  or  three  brief 
meetings,  during  the  summer,  how  frail  she 


136       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

was,  because  she  knew  it  would  make  her  sad, 
and  do  no  good ;  but  now  she  w&s  unable  to 
tend  the  house  any  more,  and  Annette  would 
have  to  come  home.  It  would  not  be  long 
before  she  would  be  free  to  go  back  to  the 
sunshine.  She  was  resigned,  glad  to  go  — 
only  for  her  poor  father's  sake.  What  would 
become  of  him?  Who  would  comfort  him? 
And  so  the  letter  closed. 

"  Do  n't  grieve,  honey,  this  is  a  world  of  trou 
ble,"  remarked  Mrs.  Graham  to  Annette,  when 
she  heard  of  the  sister's  illness ;  "  We  must 
make  the  best  of  the  comforts  that  are  left;" 
and  she  offered  Annette  a  roast  potato,  from 
which  she  had  brushed  the  ashes  with  her 
pocket-handkerchief. 

The  morning  came  up  warm  and  cloudy, 
and  the  winds  seemed  prophesying  storms  as 
they  swept  along  the  faded  woods.  The  sum 
mer  flowers  were  nearly  all  gone ;  only  a  few 
of  the  hardier  sorts  remaining  in  bloom.  The 
grain  was  all  gathered  in,  and  the  ripe  fruits 
and  the  brown  nuts  were  dropping  from  the 
trees. 

At  a  very  early  hour  the  little    market- 


MARRIED,    isr  o  T    M  A  TED.       137 

wagon  waited  at  the  door.  Henry  was  in  his 
best  attire,  and  had  arranged  a  present  of 
fruits  and  flowers  for  Nelly.  Annette  was 
really  going  home. 

"  They  say  your  sister  has  made  her  peace," 
said  Rache,  giving  a  bunch  of  herbs  and  dried 
bark  into  the  hand  of  Annette,  "but  she  may 
get  well  for  all  that :  while  there's  life  there's 
hope."  So  she  gave  directions  for  making  the 
herbs  into  teas,  which  she  had  no  doubt  would 
strengthen  her ;  they  were  the  prescription  of 
an  Indian  doctor,  and  she  once  knew  a  man, 
who  was  in  the  last  stage  of  consumption, 
cured  in  five  weeks'  time,  so  that  he  harvested 
a  field  of  wheat  in  a  single  clay.  "As  soon  as 
she  gets  a  little  strength,"  she  continued,  "tell 
her  to  come  here  and  help  gather  the  apples 
and  potatoes — it  will  do  her  good  and  brace 
her  up,  like.  Give  her  my  respects,  and  tell 
her  she  is  welcome  to  the  hospitalities  of  this 
neck  of  woods." 

And  having  shaken  hands  and  said  farewell, 
Mrs.  Martin  Muggins  returned  to  her  kitchen, 
her  night-cap  (for  since  her  marriage  she  had 
taken  to  wearing  one  all  day)  blowing  in  the 
wind,  and  her  hands  resting\m  her  hips. 


138          M  A  R  It  I  K I )  ,      SO  'I1      M  A.  TED. 

The  leave-taking  had  been  rather  tedious, 
but  Annette  had.  humored  her  loquacity,  in  the 
hope  of  obtaining,  meantime,  another  glimpse 
of  Stafford,  whom  she  had  not  seen,  as  he  was 
still  in  his  room  at  breakfast  time. 

"All  ready?"  asked  Henry,  tightening  the 
reins.  Annette  gave  one  more  glance  towards 
the  house  and  saw,  and  for  the  last  time  for 
many  years,  the  object  her  eyes  were  in  search 
of.  He  was  standing  in  a  distant  part  of  the 
grounds,  playing  with  and  tantalizing  one  of 
the  dogs,  by  alternately  caressing  him,  and 
holding  above  his  reach  a  sandwich.  Seeing 
Annette,  he  removed  his  hat  and  bowed,  cried 
"good  morning,"  and  again  resumed  his  occu 
pation,  before  her  eyes  were  turned  from  him. 

The  dust  was  moist  with  the  damp  autumnal 
atmosphere,  and  the  yellow  and  red  leaves 
rained  in  their  faces  as  they  drove  through  the 
woods  that  grew  about  the  schoolhouse,  where 
was  held  the  memorable  debate  upon  the  rights 
of  women. 

The  old  schoolmaster,  with  his  grey  hair  in 
a  queue,  stood  at  the  open  window  watching 
a  group  of  boys  and  girls  at  play  on  the 
smoothly-trodden  clay  beneath.  One  of  the 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       139 

lads,  probably  to  attract  the  attention  of  the 
passers,  suddenly  seized  the  bonnet  from  the 
head  of  a  little  girl  and  threw  it  into  a  tree- 
top.  There  was  a  general  shout,  while  the 
robbed  child  amused  her  heartless  mates  with 
exhibitions  of  her  fright. 

"  Boys,  boys  !"  exclaimed  the  schoolmaster, 
tapping  on  the  sash  with  his  penknife,  and  with 
a  handkerchief  covering  his  month  to  hide  a 
smile.  Every  little  incident,  as  they  went  for 
ward,  impressed  itself  on  the  mind  of  Annette. 
She  saw  and  remembered  every  thing,  even  to 
the  boy  who  trotted  by  them  on  the  long- 
tailed  colt,  and  the  bright-headed  bird  pecking 
the  trunk  of  a  decayed  tree. 

"  What  are  your  thoughts  about  ?"  she  asked, 
at  length,  turning  to  her  companion  and  seeing 
that  he  was  disposed  to  be  silent  and  serious. 

"  Of  Nelly,"  he  answered,  simply :  "  she  is 
an  angel !" 

"  Yes,  I  wish  I  was  as  good  ;"  and  Annette 
for  the  moment  seemed  to  feel  what  she  said. 

"  I  wish  you  were,"  he  replied,  and  both 
relapsed  into  silence,  which  neither  broke 
again  till  they  reached  the  lonely  old  house 


14:0       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

where  poor  Nelly  was  lying.  The  front  door 
was  fastened  with  a  chain  and  padlock,  and 
guarded  by  Surly,  more  attenuated  than  ever. 
He  did  not  wag  his  tail  nor  lift  his  head  when 
the  familiar  step  went  by,  but  seemed  as  if 
infected  with  some  gloom  that  filled  the  air. 

They  applied  to  the  rear  door  for  admission, 
and  finding  it  locked,  Annette  called  the  name 
of  Nelly,  but  no  answer  came ;  and  as  they 
listened,  they  heard  a  sound  as  of  some  one 
digging  in  the  earth,  and  turning  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  noise,  saw  Mr.  Furniss  shaping 
anew  the  mound  above  the  grave  of  his  wife. 

It  was  a  curiously  sombre  picture;  Henry, 
looking  pityingly  and  tenderly,  as  he  stood  a 
little  way  off,  holding  the  present  of  fruits  and 
flowers  he  had  brought;  the  old  man,  leaning 
on  his  spade,  with  tears  running  down  his 
wrinkled  cheeks,  as  he  told  Annette  the  story 
of  her  sister's  suffering  and  death;  while  she 
sat  on  the  low  headstone  of  her  mother,  her 
face  composed  to  awful  calmness,  her  eyes 
tearless,  and  her  hands  tightly  interlocked. 
That  expression  of  settled  and  passionless  sor 
row  never  passed  entirely  away.  There  is 


MARK  TED,    NOT    MATED.       141 

wilder  woe  in  the  world  than  hers  was  then, 
but  more  settled  wretchedness  could  hardly  be 
found. 

Up  from  the  bottom  of  the  grave  of  injured 
love  come  reproaches  more  awful  than  the 
terriblest  curses  of  a  living  foe,  and  the  faint 
light  of  a  last  smile  shows  us  our  wrong  life 
more  plainly  than  we  could  see  it  by  any  other 
light.  Perhaps  her  errors  passed  before  her 
then  ;  perhaps  she  remembered  the  selfish  aims 
and  pleasures  she  had  been  pursuing,  willfully 
forgetful  of  the  self-sacrificing  friend  who  was 
pining  and  dying  alone.  But,  whether  it  were 
so  or  not,  it  seemed,  as  she  sat  there  on  the 
headstone,  upright  and  untrembling,  that  to 
baffle  the  sharp  thorns  of  conscience  she  had 
turned  her  heart  into  stone. 

"Poor  Nelly,"  said  the  father;  "it  don't 
seem  as  if  she  was  dead.  I  look  toward  the 
IK -use,  and  think  I  shall  see  her  coming  to  me 
here  just  as  she  used,  or  setting  under  that  old 
tree  there,  with  Surly  beside  her,  licking  her 
hands  and  looking  up  into  her  face.  She  was 
so  good,  Ketty,  she  was  so  good."  And  he 
went  on  to  tell  how  she  had  grown  weak  from 


142        MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

the  time  Nelly  went  away,  but  that  she  said, 
when  it  was  warm,  she  would  get  better  if  the 
weather  were  cooler  ;  and  when  it  grew  cool, 
that  the  summer  would  quite  restore  her. 
When  her  cough  grew  worse,  it  was  a  little 
additional  cold ;  if  it  were  not  for  that  she 
would  soon  get  strength ;  she  was  so  cheerful 
and  so  happy,  he  did  not  know  nor  think  how 
ill  she  wras,  for  she  had  gone  about,  tending 
the  house  as  usual,  till  the  day  before  she  died. 
She  had  never  wanted  anything,  that  he  knew 
of,  which  she  didn't  have  ;  she  never  said  she 
did  ;  yes — once  she  had  asked  for  wine  ;  "  I 
knew  then,"  said  the  old  man,  "  that  she  did  n't 
know  what  she  wanted ;  knew  it  would  do  no 
good ;  I  do  n't  know  why  I  did  n't  get  it ;  but 
I  did  n't,  I  wish  I  had." 

Yet  even  in  the  bitterness  of  this  reflection 
he  forgot  he  had  still  a  living  daughter,  to 

whom  he  might  minister  if  he  would. 

o 

"  And  did  she  never  ask  for  me  ?"  said  An 
nette  ;  "  Mr.  Graham,  who  saw  her  every 
week,  never  told  me  she  was  so  ill ;  but  why 
seek  to  shield  myself!  I  knew  it — I  saw  her 
doom  when  I  left  her !" 


MARRIED,       N  O  T       &[  A  T  FJ  I) .  143 

"  She  thought  you  were  happy,"  answered 
the  young  man,  "  and  forbade  my  disclosing 
the  real  state  of  her  health,  and  though  I  have 
been  with  her  much  of  late,  for  it  was  to  her, 
I  used  to  bring  the  flowers,  I  was  myself 
deceived,  and  not  till  yesterday  was  I  aware 
that  her  death  was  at  hand." 

Annette  lifted  her  eyes,  and  for  a  moment 
they  rested  on  Henry  with  something  like 
admiration,  but  presently  they  dropped  again, 
listless,  and  as  heavy  as  before. 

"  Oh,  she  often  talked  of  you,"  the  father 
remarked,  "  but  she  said  you  wrote  how  beau 
tiful  Woodside  was,  and  how  happy  you  were, 
and  so  we  must  do  without  you ;  and  when 
she  died,  she  wanted  to  be  carried  there  and 
buried  on  the  hill  in  the  sunshine  which  you 
told  her  of." 

"  And  that  is  why  you  planted  it  so  pret 
tily,"  said  Annette,  looking  almost  tenderly 
upon  Henry. 

"  It  was  only  yesterday,"  resumed  the  father, 
"  she  told  me  she  could  not  get  well." 

The  lip  of  the  daughter  trembled,  as  he  went 


MAKRIED,    NOT    MATED. 


011  to  describe  the  last  night,  how  Nelly  had 
prepared  the  morning  breakfast,  thoughtful 
for  his  wants  when  she  should  no  longer  be 
there  to  tend  them  ;  how  she  had  fed  Surly 
and  caressed  him,  fed  her  bird  and  hung  its 
cage  where  the  morning  light  would  come  to 
it,  and  how  then  she  had  parted  and  combed 
smooth  her  hair,  asking  him  if  it  would  do, 
and  dressed  herself  in  white.  "She  wished 
me,"  he  said,  "  to  draw  her  bed  close  to  the 
window  that  she  might  see  the  stars."  About 
midnight  she  woke  from  the  sleep  into  which 
she  had  fallen,  and  when  he  asked  if  she 
wanted  anything,  she  said  no,  she  should 
never  want  anything  more  ;  and  being  tired 
of  watching  he  fell  asleep,  and  in  the  morning 
when  he  called  her,  she  did  not  answer  again. 

Annette  arose  and  with  a  firm  step  passed 
to  the  chamber  which  they  so  long  had  occu 
pied  together. 

The  cloudy  day  fell  through  the  half-closed 
window,  and  the  bird  lacking  its  morning 
meal,  chirruped  restlessly  ;  there  was  no  other 
sound,  for  the  hush  was  not  broken  by  a  single 


MARK  i  ED,    NOT    MATED.       145 

sob,  even  when  before  the  wretched  woman 
lay  the  still  white  clay  that  had  lately  been 
beautified  with  life  and  warm  with  love. 

She  lifted  the  cold  hands  and  kissed  them, 
and  stooped  and  kissed  the  forehead,  but 
though  her  bosom  shook,  her  eyes  were  dry. 
One  long  silken  tress  that  had  been  clipt  from 
the  others,  hung  softly  over  the  pillow.  An 
nette  knew  it  was  for  her,  and  as  she  took  it 
up  the  first  tears  she  had  shed  dropped  large 
and  heavy,  and  one  low  and  anguished  cry  of 
"  Kelly,  ]STelly  !"  broke  the  silence  with  its 
vain  appeal. 

"Very  gently  Henry  led  her  aside,  and  scat 
tered  over  the  corpse  and  about  the  bed  his 
present  of  autumn  flowers. 

"  Henry,  you  are  very  good,"  said  Annette, 
turning  towards  him,  and  looking  fixedly  and 
kindly  upon  him,  "  and  I  have  been  very  blind 
and  very  bad ;  forgive  me  that  I  have  bee*i 
so,  and  may  God  forgive  me,  too.  Leave  me 
now  ;  hereafter  I  may  thank  you  more  as  you 
deserve,  for  all  your  kindness  to  her  and  to 
me."  She  spoke  in  a  steady  and  almost  cold 
7 


146       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

tone,  motioning  him  away  with  the  gesture 
of  a  superior. 

"  Netty,"  exclaimed  Henry,  a  I  cannot  go, 
now  when  you  need  a  friend  so  much  :  I  can 
not  leave  you !  We  will  take  Kelly  to  Wood- 
side,  and  tend  her  grave  together.  Shall  it 
not  be  so  ?" 

"  I  am  unworthy  of  your  affection — of  the 

.uection    of   any   one,"    answered    Annette, 

"and  I  have  no  "love  for  any  living  being. 

Will  you  take  me  as  I  am?     I  shall  be   a 

heavy  burden." 

"  Then,  you  are  mine  at  last !  and  your  heart 
may  find  in  my  devotion  a  solace  for  even 
this  misfortune.  It  is  not  unfit  that  the  solem 
nity  of  a  betrothal  should  be  in  a  presence  sc 
sacred  as  this.  May  that  gentle  sister's  spirit 
watch  over  us  !"  As  he  supported  her  he  felf 
not  that  she  rested  like  a  dead  weight  upon 
his  bosom — saw  not  that  no  faintest  blush  met 
the  kiss  he  gave  her. 

And  Helen  Graham  had  a  fine  funeral,  with 
a  dozen  empty  carriages  in  the  train — for  An 
nette  would  have  it  so — and  behind  all,  droop- 


MARKIED,    NOT    MATED.        147 

ingly,  and  dragging  in  the  dust  the  rope  which 
he  had  gnawed  apart  to  get  his  freedom, 
went  Surly.  When  the  grave  of  his  young 
mistress  was  made,  he  could  not  be  persuaded 
away,  and  there  one  day,  the  withered  leaves 
drifting  over  him,  they  found  him  dead. 

And  the  homestead  of  "Woodside  was  made 
bright  with  fresh  paint,  new  avenues  were 
planned  and  planted,  a  hired  servant  drove 
the  wagon  to  market,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gra 
ham  rode  in  a  coach. 

Kache  and  Mart  began  housekeeping  for 
themselves,  in  a  log  cabin,  in  the  midst  of 
fifty  acres  of  wild  woods  :  Mrs.  Graham,  senior, 
adding  to  the  cow  and  the  feather  bed  and 
the  bureau  (the  usual  portion  of  a  country  girl), 
the  side-saddle  with  the  silver  stirrups,  which 
has  been  mentioned  as  adorning  the  window 
of  her  chamber. 

u  Their  stuck-up  way  of  living  looks  very 
fine,"  said  Bache,  as  she  struck  across  the 
fields  toward  her  new  home,  with  a  small 
looking-glass  in  her  arms  ;  "  but  this  child  has 
her  own  thoughts  about  the  happiness  they 
arc  going  to  find — and  no  mistake  about  it." 


14:8        MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

Here,  for  a  while,  we  leave  the  persons  who 
have  thus  far  appeared  in  our  little  drama,  to 
see  what  sort  of  life  is  led  at  the  neighboring 
mansion  of  Throckmorton  Hall. 


PART    II. 
THROCKMORTON    HALL 


THROCKMORTON    HALL. 


CH'APTEK   I. 

WE  were  busy  in  the  sugar-camp ;  it  was 
early  March,  and  the  apple-tree  boughs 
were  reddening  a  little,  but  the  buds  were 
scarcely  swollen ;  in  the  thick  woods  the  germi 
nating  foliage  was  fast  shut  and  black;  and 
under  the  heavy  layers  of  dead  leaves  the  frost 
glistened  white.  Here  and  there  in  the  hollow 
ground  were  spots  of  green  ivy,  and  some 
few  broad  wild  leaves  of  hardy  plants  re 
lieved  the  dark  ground  of  the  great  forest, 
but  nearly  all  was  dim  and  sombre  enough. 
On  a  hill-side,  sloping  eastward,  the  fire  was 


152       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

burning  in  the  stone  arch,  and  from  the  jet  of 
red  flame  that  ran  upward  bright  flakes  were 
broken  and,  toying  with  the  rough  wind  a  mo 
ment,  died  and  fell,  while  drifts  of  mist  from 
the  boiling  sugar- water  went  southward,  curl 
ing  like  clouds,  and  dissolving  in  the  clear  air. 
We  had  been  an  hour  carrying  armsful  of 
hickory  bark,  peeled  from  the  trunks  of  the 
big  trees  that  grew  on  the  next  hill,  and  the 
furnace  was  full  of  it ;  so  it  was  no  wonder  that 
the  flame  ran  so  high ;  we  could  hear  the 
crackling  and  see  the  light  where  we  were,  far 
away  on  the  flat  top  of  the  ascent,  among  the 
silver-green  beech  boles — our  hearts  full  of 
mirth,  and  our  aprons  full  of  moss.  "What  soft 
golden  fleeces  we  had !  no  India  shawls  could 
have  given  us  such  pleasure  as  they,  hanging 
over  our  shoulders,  in  the  twilight  of  that 
delicious  spring  day.  We  were  too  large  to  idle 
away  our  time  like  children,  our  parents  said 
sometimes ;  but  we  were  children  at  heart,  if 
not  in  years.  We  strayed  in  those  woods  many 
and  many  an  hour,  gathering  mosses,  in  gold 
fleeces,  and  grey  wiry  sprigs.  Many  a  time 
we  kept  the  fire  bright,  but  this  one  time 


MARKIED,    NOT    MATED.       153 

lingers  iu  my  memory  the  most  distinctly. 
Ah  me !  all  its  tints  were  deepened  with 
gathering  shadows. 

I  can  see  the  sunset  of  that  day  whenever  I 
think  of  it,  and  that  is  often,  very  often ;  there 
were  a  great  many  little  streaks  of  crimson, 
broken  off  at  different  lengths  among  the  west 
ern,  clouds,  that  after  a  while  blended  together 
and  thinned  and  faded  into  a  dull  orange  wave, 
out  of  which  the  stars  shone,  one  by  one,  more 
brightly  than  from  a  clear  blue  heaven. 

We  were  going  toward  the  camp-fire,  plan 
ning  the  cushions  we  should  make  with  our 
moss,  when  Rosalie  stopped  suddenly,  and 
shaking  back  her  hood,  turned  her  face  toward 
the  clouds,  telling  me  we  had  better  hurry,  for 
it  was  going  to  rain. 

I  said  it  was  not — that  T  could  count  four  or 
five  stars  over  the  horizon ;  but  stopped  to  listen 
if  there  were  any  pattering  on  the  leaves,  for 
overhead  and  to  the  eastward  I  suddenly  per 
ceived  that  all  was  one  blank  reach  of  clouds. 

As  we  stood  thus  still,  we  heard  a  footstep, 
and  the  dry  limbs  breaking  beneath  it. 

I  know  not  why,  unless  it  be  that  there  is  in 
Y* 


154:      MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

the  sound  of  the  very  step  of  one  who  brings 
evil  tidings  something  ominous,  but  my  heart 
sank  down  as  though  that  tread  had  been 
upon  it. 

For  a  moment  all  was  still — 

"  Rosalie  !  Orpha !"  called  a  voice  in  which 
there  was  a  meaning,  of  anguish,  that  cannot  be 
represented  by  any  written  words.  "We  looked 
at  each  other,  without  speaking,  for  wre  dared 
not  breathe  our  fears,  and  dropping  our  forest 
treasures,  ran  to  answer.  The  call  was  not 
repeated,  for  our  steps  made  a  noise  through 
all  the  wide  woods,  as  we  hurried  down  the 
slope  and  across  the  little  stream,  brawling 
among  the  jutting  rocks  and  smooth  stones, 
answering,  "  Father,  we  are  coining !"  for  we 
knew  that  it  was  he,  and  that  his  voice  had 
called  us  to  a  death-bed. 

"  Come,  children,"  he  said,  when  he  saw  us, 
"  come  with  me ;  your  poor  mother  wants  to 
see  you  ;"  and,  giving  a  hand  to  each,  he  drew 
us  along  very  fast.  He  said  nothing  more,  but 
loosening  his  hand  from  mine  every  now  and 
then,  drew  it  across  his  eyes. 

I  looked  back  and  saw  the  light  as  it  shone 


M  A  E  K  I  E  D  ,      NOT     MATED.          155 

up  over  the  hill ;  tried  to  think  how  long  it 
would  burn,  and  whether  the  rain  would  put 
it  out ;  heard  the  water  dropping  slowly  from 
where  ice  lingered  on  the  shady  sides  of  trees, 
for  the  thaw  had  not  ceased  with  the  day,  and 
the  soggy  ground  was  not  stiffening  at  all. 

"With  these,  and  things  like  these,  I  tried  to 
drive  from  my  mind  the  horrid  image  of  death, 
ugly  even  to  the  old,  who  are  weary  of  the 
struggle  and  torment  of  protracted  life,  but 
terrible  to  the  young,  who  look  forward  with 
hope  to  sunrises  and  summers. 

In  vain:  I  could  hear  nothing  but  one  low, 
soft  voice ;  and  if  all  the  birds  had  been 
singing  at  once  I  could  have  heard  but  that 
sound  alone ;  I  could  only  see  the  light  that 
entrenched  itself  in  the  blue  eyes  which  had 
only  shone  upon  me  in  love,  and  if  heaven 
had  been  as  full  of  suns  as  it  was  of  clouds, 
it  would  have  been  all  the  same. 

I  turned  to  Rosalie  for  comfort,  but  her 
steadfast  eyes  seemed  to  be  looking  into  the 
mystery  that  was  before  us,  and  she  saw  not 
m«y  silent  appeal. 

The  woods  were  soon   behind  us,  and  the 


156        MAKKIED,    NOT    MATED. 

slow  dropping  of  the  trees,  and  the  camp  light; 
then  we  passed  along  the  lane,  bordered  on 
one  side  by  the  orchard,  and  on  the  other  by  a 
wide  field  of  meadow  land  ;  through  the  yard 
where  the  cow.s  were  standing,  lowing  unea 
sily,  for  they  had  not  been  milked  that  night ; 
and  along  by  the  green  fence,  through  the  lit 
tle  gate;  —  and  we  were  there  at  the  door  of 
the  old  home,  that  could  never  be  home  any 
more. 

It  was  raining  now  pretty  fast,  and  Rosalie 
shook  the  drops  from  her  long  brown  curls,  for 
she  had  walked  with  her  head  uncovered  ;  and 
we  went  in.  A  long  time  my  mother  had 
been  ill,  so  long  that  we  had  grown  used  to  it, 
and  ceased  to  fear  that  she  would  ever  grow 
worse,  and  till  the  event  came  -upon  us,  thus 
fearfully,  we  had  not  even  dreamed  that  she 
would  die.  Her  slow  step,  and  pale  face,  and 
hollow  cough,  seemed  a  part  of  her  maternity; 
we  could  not  separate  them  from  her  sweet 
and  patient  ways. 

We  had  all  looked  for  the  coming  of  spring 
as  a  time  when  she  would  be  better,  and  she 
had  looked  for  it,  too,  and  planned  the  gar- 


M  A  11  K  i  E  D  ,    N  o  T    MATED.       157 

den  and  the  flower-beds,  and  talked  of  what 
we  would  do  in  the  summer  and  the  fall ;  and 
we  had  thought  it  must  be  as  she  said. 

One  thing  after  another  had  been  given  up, 
—  at  first  the  minding  of  household  affairs  ; 
then  the  sewing  in  the  rocking-chair;  arid 
then  every  thought  of  work ;  and  we  brought 
all  the  books  and  papers  that  we  had  —  they 
were  not  many — and  she  amused  herself  with 
them  as  she  lay,  hour  after  hour,  on  the 
low  bed  by  the  window,  over  which  the 
sweet-brier  climbed. 

At  length,  one  night,  we  could  not  sleep 
for  her  coughing,  so  hard  and  so  constant, 
and  in  the  morning  she  said  she  was  tired 
with  the  night's  unrest,  and  would  not  get 
np  till  the  sun  had  shone  awhile ;  but  the 
whole  clay  went  by,  and  tl^g  next,  and  the 
next,  and  she  was  not  well  enough  to  leave 
her  bed ;  so  came  the  morning  and  the  even- 
in  <j  which  were  to  bo  the  last  in  which  she 

w 

would  suffer. 

It  wras  a  low,  nnplastered  chamber,  where 
her  bed  was,  for  the  house  was  small,  and 
she  had  been  removed  from  the  room  below, 


158       M  A  it  K  i  E  D  ,    NOT    MATED. 

to  be  away  from  the  noise  of  household 
affairs. 

There  was  a  lighted  candle  on  the  table, 
and  the  little  wheel  with  the  flax  partly  spun 
off  the  distaff  was  set  one  side,  and  a  strong 
odor  of  camphor  pervaded  the  room.  I  was 
afraid,  and  kept  as  far  away  from  the  bed  as  I 
could.  There  wras  a  fire  on  the  hearth,  and 
two  women  were  sitting  before  it,  conversing 
in  low  tones.  I  did  not  at  first  see  who  they 
were,  but  when  a  full,  deep  voice  from  one 
whom  I  had  not  observed,  standing  by  the 
window,  said,  "Affliction  springeth  not  out 
of  the  bosom  of  the  earth,"  I  knew  it  was 
the  wisdom  and  tone  of  my  Uncle  Petei 
Throckmorton,  and  that  one  of  the  women  by 
the  fire-side  was  his  wrife,  Aunt  Sally. 

"Have  the  children  come?"  asked  my 
mother. 

"Yes  they  are  here,"  said  Mrs.  Pen-in,  "  do 
you  want  them  ? "  and  she  spoke  in  so  sweet 
and  soft  a  voice  that  I  loved  her  more  than 
I  had  ever  done  till  then. 

Aunt  Sally  went  close  to  her  husband,  as 
if  she  looked  no  further  than  to  him  for  aid , 


M  A  R  R  I  E  D  ,      NOT      MATED.          159 

it  was  not  for  her  even  to  pray,  except  as 
Peter  did.  A  good  and  loving  woman  she  was, 
but  with  too  little  reliance  on  herself — too 
much  upon  Peter.  Her  eyes  were  full  of 
tears,  and  her  heart  seemed  choking  her,  as 
she  turned  toward  Rosalie  and  me,  seeming 
to  ask  her  husband  what  she  should  say  or  do 
to  comfort  us. 

Uncle  Peter,  having  tried  to  say  "afflictions 
spring  not  from  the  dust,"  snuffed  the  can 
dle,  and  taking  up  a  newspaper,  which 
chanced  to  lie  on  a  chair  by  his  side,  appeared 
rather  unconcerned  in  the  events  about  him 
than  absorbed  in  the  reading,  while,  nervous 
and  pale,  Aunt  Sally  sat  on  a  low  stool  at 
his  feet,  looking  wistfully  on  him,  through  her 
tears. 

Mrs.  Perrin  said  not  a  word,  but  held  my 
mother's  hand,  fanning  her  slowly  with  a 
great  black  fan. 

"Oil,  Peter!'7  sobbed  Aunt  Sally,  after  a 
moment.  He  did  not  observe  it,  but  read  on. 
"Oh,  Peter,  what  shall  I  do?;'  she  said,  and 
removing  one  hand  from  the  paper,  he  shook 
her  gently,  in  half  authoritative  and  half 


J  60         M  A  K  K  I  ED  ,     NOT     MATED. 

loving  reproval,  without,  however,  withdraw 
ing  his  eyes  from  reading.  "  Oh,  dear !  oh, 
dear!  do  say  something  to  comfort  me;" 
said  Aunt  Sally,  and  laying  her  head  on  his 
knees,  she  wept  like  a  child. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Throckmorton,"  said  Uncle 
Peter,  letting  his  hand  fall  upon  her  neck, 
"really  you  must  quiet  yourself;  you  disturb 
your  sister,  and  make  yourself  appear  very 
badly.  You  had  better  take  my  arm  and 
go  below  stairs  and  eat  a  mouthful  or  two ; 
it  will  refresh  you.  Come,  my  dear,  it  is  a 
heavy  time  to  us  all,  but  it  becomes  us  to  sus 
tain  our  positions  with  Christian  fortitude  and 
resignation ; "  and  leaning  on  the  arm  of 
stout  and  pompous  Uncle  Peter,  and  sobbing 
all  the  while,  Aunt  Sally  was  led  away. 

On  the  roof  the  rain  fell  with  a  dreary 
monotone,  and  the  candle  flame  shook  as  the 
wind  came  through  the  crevices  of  the  wall, 
and  the  shadows  moved  up  and  down  the 
room  like  ghosts. 

" Don't  cry,  my  little  darling,'1'  said  Mrs. 
Perrin,  putting  her  arm  about  me  and  draw 
ing  me  to  the  bed-side;  "your  mother  is 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       161 

better  now."  I  took  my  hands  from  my  eyes, 
and  bringing  the  low  stool  on  which  Aunt 
Sally  had  sat,  I  knelt  on  it,  and  leaned  over 
my  mother's  pillow.  She  smiled  faintly 
when  she  saw  me,  but  said  nothing.  Rosalie 
stood  by  me,  erect  and  calm ;  she  had  always 
been  prepared  for  whatever  came,  and  she 
was  prepared  for  this  ;  there  were  no  tears  in 
her  eyes,  but  her  mournful  and  stead&st  gaze 
seemed  to  see  the  breaking  up  of  heaven.  I 
was  sixteen,  and  she  more  than  a  year  older ; 
but  in  experience  and  knowledge  we  were 
as  little  children.  We  had  lived  only  in  the 
circle  of  a  quiet  and  simple  home;  our 
mother's  love  had  been  our  world,  and  her 
will  our  law ;  and  while  we  had  such  a  home 
and  such  a  guide,  what  need  had  we  of 
other  society  or  greater  knowledge  ? 

It  was  a  good  while  before  my  mother 
spoke,  but  she  looked  on  me  serenely  and 
earnestly,  as  if  thinking  whether  she  could 
trust  me  alone,  and  when  I  bent  my  head,  hid 
ing  my  eyes  again,  she  laid  her  damp  and  cold 
hand  upon  it,  as  if  she  blessed  me.  "  Go  now, 
my  poor  Orpha,"  she  said,  at  last ;  "  go  and 


162       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

sleep;  you  can't  do  me  any  good;  perhaps 
in  the  morning  I  shall  be  better."  I  turned 
away,  for  I  knew  that  my  sobbing  disturbed 
her,  and  approaching  the  window  where  my 
father  stood,  looked  out  into  the  night.  He 
held  me  close,  and  I  saw  that  his  lips  were 
compressed  to  keep  still  the  inward  anguish, 
and  felt  his  arm  tremble  with  the  agony  that 
could  not  be  all  subdued. 

"  You,  my  child,"  said  my  mother  tc 
Kosalie,  "you  are  so  thoughtful,  you  will 
know  what  to  do  when  I  am  gone,  and  if  I 
never  talk  with  you  again,  I  am  sure  you 
will  leave  your  playing,  and  guide  and  com 
fort  Orpha ;  your  judgment  is  clearer  and 
your  nature  less  impulsive  than  hers ;  you 
must  keep  her  heart  from  failing,  Rosie, 
when  I  am  dead." 

That  last  word  had  in  it  an  awfulness  and 
terror;  and,  frightened  child  that  I  was,  I 
cried  aloud. 

"  Orpha,  Orpha,"  said  my  mother,  and  put 
ting  my  arms  about  her  neck,  I  kissed  her 
over  and  over,  saying  I  could  not  live  with 
out  her — that  she  would  and  must  get  well. 


MARKIED,    NOT    MATED.       163 

She  smiled,  but  not  encouragingly,  and  good 
Mrs.  Perrin  led  me  away,  saying  I  must  not 
cry — that  my  mother  was  not  so  bad,  but 
that  I  would  make  her  worse  if  I  cried  so. 

I  hid  my  face  in  her  lap,  and  tried  to  be 
still ;  but  I  could  not,  when  I  remembered 
how  lovingly  my  mother's  blue  eyes  had 
looked  on  me  as  I  left  her,  and  that,  perhaps, 
I  should  never  see  them  any  more. 

"  Do  n't  cry,  my  darling,  do  n't  cry,"  Mrs. 
Perrin  kept  saying,  as  she  unfastened  my 
frock,  "your  mother  will  be  better  in  the 
morning;  don  't  cry,  my  dear."  This  was  all 
she  could  say  to  me,  but  I  was  comforted. 

"Be  a  good  girl,  now,"  she  added,  as  she 
tucked  the  bed-clothes  close  about  me,  "and 
go  to  sleep,  and  in  the  morning  you  shall  see^ 
your  mother;  I  am  almost  sure  she  will  be 
better ;  I  have  known  folks  nearly  as  bad  as 
she  is  who  got  better." 

I  caught  upon  this  new  hope,  and  asked  her 
if  she  really  thought  my  mother  would  get 
well,  and  when  she  said,  "I  think  she  will  be 
better,  my  dear,"  I  wiped  my  eyes  and  tried 
to  be  calm.  She  asked  me  if  I  was  corn* 


164:      M  A  K  K  i  E  p ,    NOT    MATED. 

fortable,  and  left  the  light  burning,  that  I 
might  feel  less  afraid,  I  suppose.  I  could 
not  go  to  sleep,  as  she  told  me  to  do ;  I  was 
frightened,  and  often  lifted  my  head  from  the 
pillow  to  listen,  and  peered  curiously  about 
the  room,  thinking  I  should  see  strange  shapes, 
or  hear  noises  that  I  could  not  understand. 

I  saw  nothing  but  the  shadows  moving,  as 
the  wind  blew,  and  mice  gliding  in  and  out 
of  holes,  and  slipping  across  the  naked  floor 
without  a  sound. 

It  was  an  hour  before  Rosalie  came ;  it 
seemed  a  great  deal  longer.  I  knew  her 
footsteps  at  once ;  she  trod  firmly ;  she  wa3 
as  undisturbed  as  if  she  had  been  trained  from 
infancy  to  walk  the  chambers  of  the  dying. 

I  did  not  dare  to  ask  what  I  wished  to 
know,  but  I  put  my  arms  about  her,  saying, 
"  Oh,  Rosie !  God  help  us  !  "  She  answered, 
"  God  help  us !  "  and  that  was  all.  I  could 
not  understand  why  she  did  not  tremble,  as  I 
did ;  where  she  got  her  strength  and  her  con 
fidence  ;  I  do  not  understand  to  this  day.  I 
only  felt  how  much  stronger  she  was,  and  how 
much  wiser  she  was,  than  I ;  and,  at  last,  with 


M  A  K  R  I  K  D  ,      NOT      M  A  T  E  D  .          165 

my  cheek  close  to  hers,  I  fell  asleep.  I 
dreamed  of  open  graves,  and  of  the  noise  of 
clods  falling  on  coffins;  of  funeral  processions, 
and  of  innumerable  rows  of  head- stones ;  and 
while  I  dreamed,  a  strange  voice  called  to 
me,  and  a  hand  touched  my  arm.  The  voice 
was  scarce  above  a  whisper,  and  the  touch 
was  very  light,  but  I  started,  and  sat  upright. 
There  was  no  need  of  spoken  words — I  knew 
what  tidings  were  brought  to  us. 

I  did  not  cry  at  first ;  my  feelings  were 
too  deep  for  tears ;  I  was  come  into  a  strange 
and  terribly  dark  world.  The  wind  had 
never  moaned  as  it  did  then,  and  the  night 
had  never  been  so  long  and  so  wild.  Well 
might  Rosalie  have  said,  "  God  help  us  ! " 

When  I  saw  my  father — when  he  said, 
turning  from  us  his  face,  that  we  were  orphans, 
— that  the  best  and  dearest  friend  whom  we 
could  ever  have  in  the  world  was  dead — I 
could  restrain  my  grief  no  longer,  but  gave 
voice  to  it,  while  Rosie  sat  still  and  tearless. 

"  Orpha,my  little  beauty,"  said  Uncle  Peter, 
"  you  must  not  cry  after  this  fashion ;  you  will 
make  yourself  sick,  and  then  who  will  tako 


166       M  A  R  K  i  E  D  ,    NOT    MATED. 

care  of  you?  You  have  no  mother  now.  She 
died  happy,  and  that  ought  to  comfort  you ; 
and  the  Lord  knows  what  is  best  for  us.  'The 
smoking  flax  will  he  not  quench,'  child. 
There  is  a  great  meaning  in  that  Scripture,  and 
you  are  big  enough  to  study  it  out ;  and  then 
think,  too,  what  the  poet  says : 

How  doth  the  little  busy  bee, 

Improve  each  shining  hour  : 

And  gather  honey  all  the  d;i_y, 

From  every  opening  flower.' 

"  Are  you  improving  your  time  now,  like  a 
bee?  Well,  then  a  bee,  a  little,  good-for- 
nothing  bee,  is  wiser  than  you  are.  Is  that 
right?  No,  it  Js  not  right.  Do  you  think 
God  made  you  to  be  of  less  use  than  a  bee, 
that  hath  a  waxen  cell,  and  labors  hard  to 
store  it  well,  and  all  that  ?" 

I  listened  at  .first,  for  his  presence  awed  me, 
and  looking  at  the  ruffle  of  his  shirt,  .and  the 
jewelled  ring  on  his  finger,  and  his  soft  brown 
hair< — I  didn't  know  it  was  a  wig  —  I  was 
for  a  moment  still.  There  must  be  wisdom  ir. 
his  words ;  I  was  sure  of  that ;  and  more 


M  A  K  R  I  E  D  ,      N  U  T      MATED.          1 67 

especially  was  I  so  when  Aunt  Sally  said, 
giving  her  husband  a  loving  look,  "  You  must 
thank  your  uncle  for  being  so  good  to  you  ; 
many  a  little  girl  has  n't  any  Uncle  Peter  to 
give  her  good  advice  when  her  mother  dies." 

I  have  since  realized  this  fact,  if  I  failed  to 
do  so  at  that  time. 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Throckmorton,  you  are 
very  good;  you  are  like  the  sun-flower,  iny 
love;  you  turn  to  your  god  when  he  rises, 
the  same  look  that  you  gave  when  he  set." 

This  was  quite  beyond  my  comprehension, 
and  seeing  Mrs.  Pen-in  laying  the  hands  of 
my  mother  across  her  bosom,  I  cried  afresh. 
Rosalie  sat  close  by  the  bed  —  her  hair 
brushed  away,  and  her  dark  eyes  downcast, 
but  tearless ;  she  was  talking  with  the  angels, 
I  think. 

"Why,  child  of  mortality,"  said  Uncle 
Peter,  seeing  my  tears,  "  do  you  think  yon 
can  bring  the  dead  to  life?  JSTo,  you  can't 
raise  the  dead  —  that  would  be  a  miracle. 
You  can 't  do  that,  child.  Well,  now,  if  you 
can 't  do  it,  what 's  the  use  of  crying  !  That 's 
the  way  to  reason;  that's  the  way  to  be  \v5:-o, 


168      MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

as  your  Aunt  Sarah  is  good  enough  to  say  I 
am.  JSTow,  Orpha,  my  dear,  I  do  n't  pretend 
that  your  aunt  do  n't  see  me  with  eyes  a  little 
partial ;  that  is,  she  sees  me  so  much,  so  fami 
liarly,  that  she  knows  the  strong  points  of  my 
character,  and  if  there  be  one  point  stronger 
than  another,  it  is  Christian  philosophy.  I 
am  always  resigned,  little  girl,  to  the  will  of 
Heaven.  Now,  I  have  always  been  blessed 
with  good  health,  and  I  am  judiciously  thank 
ful  for  it." 

Here  Aunt  Sally  closed  her  eyes  —  that 
judiciously  she  did  not  quite  understand;  it 
was  too  wonderful  for  her,  that  was  all ;  and 
Uncle  Peter  went  on  to  say,  that  if,  in 
the  dispensations  of  Providence,  afflictments 
should  be  sent  upon  him  —  such  as  the  loss 
of  his  dear  companion,  my  Aunt  Sarah  —  he 
would  endeavor  to  be  resigned ;  he  knew,  in 
fact,  that  under  any  afflictment  he  would  be 
patient  and  calm.  It  was  bad  enough  to  see 
women  and  children  fretting  under  the  little 
trials  of  life,  but  .a  man  should  be  ashamed  to 
groan ! 

Aunt  Sally  put  on  a  sort  of  smile  —  she  felt 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       169 

it  to  be  her  duty  to  do  so,  though  her  heart,  I 
am  sure,  was  heavy  enough. 

I  had  scarcely  seen  my  Uncle  Peter  till 
then,  except  as  he  called  at  the  gate  in  his 
coach  for  Aunt  Saily,  who  came  once  or  twice 
in  the  year  to  see  my  mother.  Their  home 
was  a  dozen  miles  from  ours,  and  Uncle  Peter 
had  no  time  to  visit,  so  he  said ;  perhaps  it 
was  so ;  I  am  sure  he  had  no  time  to  visit 
poor  relations. 

The  daylight  was  breaking,  cold  and  grey, 
when  Uncle  Peter,  twirling  his  hat  over  the 
gold  head  of  his  cane,  waked  Aunt  Sally  from 
the  light  sleep  into  which  she  had  fallen,  and 
making  an  essay  to  contract  his  portly  person 
a  little,  desired  to  have  his  overcoat  buttoned. 
It  was  in  vain ;  Aunt  Sally  could  not  do  it ; 
and  I  think  now  nothing  short  of  a  horse 
power  could  have  done  it ;  but  the  patient  lit 
tle  woman  almost  strained  the  blood  from  her 
fingers,  in  endeavors  to  make  one  button  and 
buttonhole  meet  together,  blaming  herself  all 
the  while  for  awkwardness  and  weakness. 
"Why,  my  dear  Mrs.  Throckmorton,"  said 
Uncle  Peter,  elongating  himself  a  little, 


170       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

"what  is  the  matter  with  yon?"  Uncle 
Peter  never  once  thought  that  himself  could 
be  at  fault  —  that  he  was  not  too  large,  nor 
his  coat  too  small,  were  fixed  facts;  therefore 
it  followed  that  poor  Aunt  Sally  was  extreme 
ly  inefficient. 

"  I  do  n't  know,  Mr.  Throckmorton,"  said 
Aunt  Sally,  with  a,  sort  of  tremulous  humility, 
"  what  is  the  matter;  I  do  n't  seem  to  have 
any  strength." 

"Humph!"  said  Uncle  Peter,  as  if  he 
thought  that  if  she  had  not  strength  she 
ought  to  have,  "  do  n't  keep  me  waiting  ;  you 
have  made  me  lose  more  time  now  than  I  can 
afford ;  hav'  n't  you  got  a  black  ribbon  about 
you,  an  inch  wide,  or  an  inch  and  a  half,  with 
which  to  loop  my  coat  together?  Bless  me, 
I  'm  near  fainting  with  standing  so  long." 

"With  a  nervous  jerk  and  an  expression  of 
anguish,  Aunt  Sally  wrenched  away  a  portion 
of  her  watch  ribbon,  and  looped  the  overcoat 
together.  "  That  will  answer,  my  dear,"  said 
Uncle  Peter  affably;  "now  get  a  silk  cord 
and  attach  to  your  watch." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Throckmorton,  I  will,"  answered 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       171 

Aunt  Sally,  though  where  or  how,  just  then, 
she  was  to  get  a  silk  cord,  she  did  not  know ; 
she  only  knew  it  must  be  clone  if  Mr.  Throck- 
morton  said  so.  Uncle  Peter  thought  he 
would  ride  home  and  try  to  get  a  little  rest  — • 
(he  had  slept  in  his  chair  except  at  intervals 
when  he  had  philosophized  for  my  benefit)  all 
the  night. 

"  Do,  my  dear,"  said  Aunt  Sally,  "  you  look 
quite  worn  out." 

"  Now,  children,"  he  said,  as  he  took  leave, 
u  you  must  not  cry  when  they  lay  your 
mother  in  the  coffin,  nor  when  they  put  her  in 
the  grave  ;  we  must  all  die  when  our  time 
comes;  and  to  murmur  is  to  complain  of  the 
will  of  the  Lord  —  it  ain't  nothing  else  under 
the  sun —  that's  just  what  it  is  ;  now,  if  you 
cry,  you  will  offend  Heaven,  and  what  is 
more,  you  will  very  much  displease  your 
Uncle  Peter." 

"It  is  an  easy  thing  to  give  advice,"  said 
Mrs.  Perrin,  "  and  the  easier,  I  think,  when 
we  do  n't  know  what  wTe  talk  about." 

''  I  wish  you  a  very  good  morning,"  said 
Uncle  Peter,  benignantly.  Mrs.  Perrin  was  a 


172          M  A  R  K  I  E  D  ,      NOT      MATED. 

simple  old  woman  in  his  eyes,  who  might 
watch  with  the  sick,  but  to  whom  his  wisdom 
was  a  sealed  book. 

How  cold  and  cheerless  that  morning  was, 
and  how  long  in  breaking!  My  father  sat 
apart,  neither  weeping  nor  speaking,  and  I 
saw  that  he  could  not  be  comforted.  Rosalie 
sat  at  the  east  window,  waiting  for  the  light; 
and  I,  when  free  from  the  restraint  of  Uncle 
Peter's  presence,  hid  my  face  in  my  hands, 
and  gave  freedom  to  my  tears. 

"  Come  here,  my  child,"  said  Mrs.  Pen-in. 
She  wiped  my  eyes  and  smoothed  away  my 
hair,  and  then,  putting  her  arm  around  my 
waist,  said,  "Your  mother  is  not  dead,  Orpha; 
she  is  only  gone  away  from  suffering ;  if  she 
was  back  she  would  have  to  suffer  again,  and 
die  again  ;  so  we  must  not  wish  for  her  to 
come  back,  but  try  to  do  all  that  would  please 
her.  She  would  not  want  you  to  cry,  but 
to  be  good  and  do  good  —  remember  this, 
Orpha ;  your  mother  was  a  good  woman  ;  try 
to  be  like  her."  The  clock  struck  as  she 
talked,  and  pointing  to  it,  she  added,  "  See, 
vour  mother  has  been  three  hours  in  heaven." 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       173 

I  felt  less  fearful  and  less  desolate  near  her, 
and  as  her  withered  hand  patted  my  cheek,  I 
foil  asleep.  Dear,  good  Mrs.  Pen-in  ! 

I  had  understood  all  she  said  — her  kind, 
loving  heart  had  spoken  to  mine,  and  her 
kindness  had  been  her  interpreter.  And  now 
Eosalie  and  I  were  more  as  one  than  we  had 
previously  been,  if  that  were  possible  —  more 
as  one,  till  another  love  came  between  us. 


174      MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 


CHAPTER  II. 

I  WILL  pass  over  the  funeral,  the  break 
ing  up  of  our  broken  household,  the 
parting  with  oar  father,  who  went  to  visit  the 
home  of  his  boyhood,  far  across  the  moun 
tains,  and  resume  ray  narrative  the  day  when, 
with  little  parcels  in  our  hands,  containing 
all  our  effects,  we  were  helped  into  Uncle 
Peter's  coach,  and,  partly  laugliing  and  partly 
crying,  carried  to  his  fine  house  to  live.  The 
woods  were  budding  forth  now;  the  fire  had 
gone  out  in  the  sugar  camp;  and  the  cattle 
and  sheep  went  along  the  brooksides,  nib 
bling  the  tender  and  sprouting  grass.  "Now, 
my  wards,"  said  Uncle  Peter,  seeing  that  we 
looked  back,  "you  must  not  cast  one  glance 
of  sorrow  toward  the  old  house  and  farm ; 


HARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       175 

why,  it  is  a  miserable  hut — the  house  you 
have  been  accustomed  to  call  home.  No 
wonder  your  mother  died  there  ;  I  should  die 
there  too,  if  I  had  no  better  place  to  live  in ; 
and  the  farm  is  nothing  but  a  collection  of 
woods  and  fields  badly  cultivated  and  ineli- 
gibly  situated.  Now,  my  wards,  lay  aside 
prejudice  and  see  if  the  old  place  won't 
appear  very  ineligible." 

"I  have  never  seen  much,"  answered 
Rosalie,  "but  of  all  I  have  seen,  home  is 
the  prettiest  place." 

"  How  ignorant  you  are!"  said  Uncle  Peter; 
"  wait  till  you  have  seen  my  estate.  Throck- 
morton  Hall  I  call  it.  Your  aunt  Sarah  did 
indeed  suggest  the  name,  but  I  decided  it. 
How  do  you  like  it,  my  wards?  well  sound 
ing,  is  n't  it?" 

Of  course  we  said  it  was  a  pretty  name, 
for  we  felt  that  Uncle  Peter  wished  us  to  say 
so.  He  smiled  graciously,  and  drawing  down 
the  window  directed  Westley,  the  coachman, 
to  drive  slow,  and  give  his  little  wards  a  view 
of  "the  scenery  about  the  Hall."  I  was  try 
ing  to  make  a  picture  of  it,  the  beautiful 


176       MAEKIED,    NOT    MATED. 

house,  when  Uncle  Peter  assuming  a  grave 
aspect,  said,  "  My  little  wards,  I  have  one 
request,  which  is,  that  you  will  hereafter 
address  me  as  Uncle  Samuel  Peter;  that  is 
my  name,  wards,  and  it  sounds  better  to  the 
ear  than  simple  Peter." 

"  Simple  Peter,  I  think,"  whispered  Kosie 
to  me. 

"What  did  you  say,  my  ward?"  asked 
Uncle  Samuel  Peter. 

"  That  Samuel  Peter  is  greatly  more  digni 
fied  than  simply  Peter,"  she  replied,  looking 
earnest  and  serious. 

"The  correctness  of  your  judgment  quite 
astonishes  me,"  said  my  uncle ;  and  he  con 
tinued,  "you  are  far  handsomer  than  your 
sister ;  why,  I  never  saw  eyes  so  black  and 
sparkling ;  Orpha,  my  dear,  you  will  be  quite 
overshadowed  ;  you  must  try  and  call  a  little 
spirit  into  your  face." 

I  was  so  much  afraid  of  offending  him  I 
did  not  say  anything,  and  turning  away  my 
face,  which  I  felt  must  be  very  homely,  tried 
to  keep  down  the  emotion  which  his  words 
provoked. 


MAKKIED,    NOT    MATED.       177 

"  And  shall  we  say  Aunt  Sarah,  Uncle 
Samuel  Peter?"  asked  Rosalie;  "you  know 
you  must  instruct  us,  we  are  such  ignorant 
little  girls." 

He  did  not  see  her  half  arch  and  half  sar 
castic  expression,  but  replied  gravely,  "  Why 
yes,  my  wards,  if  you  like ;  I  say  Sarah  or 
Mrs.  Throckmorton  merely  in  respect  to  my 
dignity,  not  that  it  makes  any  difference  to 
her  what  I  call  her." 

"Were  you  ever  sick,  Uncle  Samuel 
Peter  ? "  inquired  Rosalie  directly. 

"No,  my  ward — why  do  you  ask — you 
do  n't  see  any  indications  of  disease,  do 
you?" 

"  "No,  Uncle  Samuel  Peter — that  was  why 
I  asked  —  you  looked  so  remarkably  well  for 
your  years,"  she  went  on. 

"My  years,"  interrupted  Uncle  Peter, 
"  what  of  my  years,  Rose?" 

""Why,"  she  continued,  as  if  pursuing  the 
same  train  of  thought,  "you  must  be  forty, 
Uncle  Samuel  Peter,  ain  't  you  ? " 

"  Yes,  my  darling  ward,  about  that,"  he  re 
plied,  stroking  his  chin. 
8* 


I'TS      M  A  K  u  i  E  D  ,    NOT    MATED. 

"  And  you  look  so  young !"  continued 
Rosalie. 

"  What  splendid  hair  you  have !"  lie  said, 
and  put  his  hand  through  Rosie's  hair,  caress 
ingly  and  admiringly. 

She  laughed,  shaking  loose  her  curls,  and 
asked  something  about  "Throckmorton  Hall," 
not  forgetting  the  entire  name  of  Samuel 
Peter.  A  dozen  times  she  had  said  it,  while 
I  sat  bashfully  in  the  corner,  unnoticed 
and  unthought  of.  Rosie  knew  intuitively 
how  to  read  human  nature ;  I  did  not  know 
then,  nor  why  it  was  she  said  Uncle  Samuel 
Peter,  while  I  said  nothing.  My  mother 
called  me  as  fair  as  she,  and  loved  me  as  well, 
and  not  till  I  set  out  with  our  uncle  did 
I  have  a  thought  of  how  much  plainer  I  was 
than  she,  and  how  inferior  in  every  way. 

Ah  me !  our  success  in  this  world  depends 
greatly  on  the  facility  with  which  we  can  say 
Uncle  Samuel  Peter !  Peter,  simply,  will  not 
do  at  all. 

Rosalie  had  a  bold,  independent  character, 
but  her  roguish  good  humor  charmed  you 
away  from  the  superiority  she  unconsciously 


J\l  A  K  K  I  E  D  ,     NOT     MATED.          179 

,  assumed,  and  the  smile  with  which  she  sent 
her  arrow  made  you  forgive  the  sting;  and 
then,  she  was  so  careless  whom  she  wounded, 
that  no  one  felt  she  had  taken  any  particular 
aim.  Whether  she  lived  at  the  Hall  or 
at  the  old  homestead  was  the  same  to  her, 
so  far  as  pride  and  humility  were  con 
cerned  ;  but  she  saw  that  Uncle  Peter  looked 
down  on  our  homestead,  and  so,  smiling  at 
his  weakness,  she  seemed  to  look  up  to  the 
Hall ;  I  really  thought  it  a  much  finer  place 
than  our  little  farm;  but  this  availed  noth 
ing — I  could  not  say  Samuel  Peter,  half  so 
smoothly  as  she. 

"  ]N"o,  Rosie,"  said  Uncle  Peter,  taking  up 
the  thread  of  a  conversation  dropped  some 
time  past,  "  I  have  never  been  sick  ;  I  really 
wish  I  could  be,  but  I  never  could  consent  to 
violate  the  laws  of  health  sufficiently." 

"Why,  Uncle  Samuel  Peter!"  exclaimed 
Rosie.  She  did  not  say  any  more,  but  her 
tone  and  manner  implied  to  him  wonder, 
admiration,  and  curiosity,  and  a  great  deal 
of  general  interest  besides.  I  had  said  "  Why, 
Uncle  Samuel ! "  at  the  same  time :  1  forgot 


180       MAKE  i  ED,    NOT    MATED. 

to  add  the  Peter,  in.  my  earnestness ;  but 
Rosie  was  not  so  earnest  as  to  forget  a  mat 
ter  thus  important,  and  the  consequence  was 
that  my  exclamation  elicited  no  attention,  and 
our  uncle  said,  "Because,  my  ward,"  not 
my  wards,  "  I  would  like  to  make  an  example 
of  myself;  I  would  like  to  show  the  world 
what  heroism,  under  affliction,  is.  Men  are  so 
unworthy  of  the  name  of  men,  I  really  would 
like  to  make  an  example  of  myself." 

"  I  suppose,  Uncle  Peter,  it  would  be  for 
the  benefit  of  the  world,"  replied  Rosie,  but 
the  ludicrousness  of  the  thing  was  so  appa 
rent,  that  the  dimples  deepened  and  deepened 
until  she  laughed  out. 

"My  ward!  my  ward,"  exclaimed  Uncle 
Peter,  u  is  that  becoming  reverence  to  rny 
years  ?" 

"  O,  Uncle  Samuel  Peter,"  answered  Rosie, 
"  you  can 't  make  yourself  seem  old  to  me, 
if  you  are  forty,"  and  she  ran  on  at  once 
with  some  inquiry  about  the  Hall,  so  Uncle 
Peter  altogether  forgot  the  irreverence. 

"  How  pretty  the  scenery  is  becoming,"  I 
ventured  to  remark. 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       181 

Uncle  Peter  said  nothing,  and  Rosie  added, 
"  Yes,  as  we  come  near  the  Hall." 

Uncle  Peter  smiled  and  repeated,  "  Yes, 
my  ward,  as  we  come  near  the  Hall,  the 
little  places  about  here  set  mine  off  beauti 
fully." 

"  Beautifully !"  echoed  Eosie 

"  I  can 't  fancy  anything  prettier  than  this 
place,"  I  said;  "is  it  yours,  Uncle  Peter?" 
"We  were  passing  a  very  highly  cultivated 
and  beautiful  farm. 

"  Pshaw,  child !  how  stupid  you  are  !"  he 
answered?  "that  is  not  Thr6ckmorton  Hall; 
a  good  little  sort  of  a  place,  to  be  sure,  but 
not  worth  driving  so  slow  for  —  what  an  ass 
Westley  is  ! " 

Rosie  looked  the  other  way,  and  asked 
indifferently  who  owned  the  place,  while  I 
strained  my  eyes  to  see  it :  the  yard  about 
the  house  was  so  pretty,  with  early  flowers 
and  leafing  trees,  I  could  not  help  it. 

"Orpha,  do  sit  up — you  will  grow 
crooked,"  said  my  uncle ;  and  turning  to 
Rosie,  he  replied  to  her  question  most  com 
placently  :  "  The  place  is  owned  by  an  old 


182      MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

woman  of  the  name  of  Graham :  a  most  unlike 
able  old  creature,  and  in  imitation  of  me,  I 
suppose,  they  have  named  the  farm — they 
call  it  "Woodside;"  and  he  could  not  help 
laughing :  it  was  so  ludicrous  that  any  place 
should  have  a  name  except  his. 

Rosie  laughed,  too,  and  said,  "  Great  men 
must  expect  small  imitators." 

"  Yes,  my  ward,"  he  replied,  and  with  so 
deep  and  gratified  a  respiration  that  one  of 
his  vest  buttons  gave  way. 

I  could  not  help  saying  Woodside  was  a 
sweet  name. 

"  Respectable,"  answered  Uncle  Peter. 

"O,  I  don't  know,"  said  Rose,  "  it  is  well 
enough." 

"  Yes,  my  ward,  wrell  enough ;  nothing 
more  can  be  said ;"  and  his  manner  indicated 
that  in  his  own  estimation  he  had  uttered  a 
very  generous  thing. 

"  Does  the  old  woman  you  speak  of  live 
alone  ?"  asked  Rose. 

I  knew  not  whether  she  had  seen,  though  I 
had,  a  very  handsome  young  man  seated  on 
the  steps  of  the  portico,  reading,  and  at  the 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       1    ) 

same  time  playing  coquettishly  with  a  fine 
dog  beside  him. 

"I  believe  not,"  answered  Uncle  Peter; 
"  she  has  one  or  two  sons ;  I  scarcely  know 
them,  however." 

The  young  man  had  but  carelessly  looked 
up  as  we  passed,  and  I  felt  that  Uncle  Peter's 
indifference  was  probably  reciprocated. 

"  We  have  some  very  good  honest  people 
about  here,"  he  soliloquized,  "but  very  few  with 
whom  one  cares  to  be  intimately  associated." 

"  How  are  you,  Judge  ?"  was  an  abrupt,  and 
coarse  salutation,  that  caused  me  to  turn  my 
head  quickly.  Westley  had  drawn  up  the 
reins,  and  my  uncle  was  glancing  toward  the 
window,  before  which,  seated  on  the  ugliest 
little  donkey  I  ever  beheld,  was  a  very  singu 
lar  specimen  of  womanhood.  She  was  small 
in  stature,  seeming  to  have  been  stinted,  by 
hard  work,  of  the  proportions  which  nature 
would  have  given  her,  as  we  sometimes  notice 
trees,  dwarfed  and  scrubby,  in  climates  too 
severe  for  them.  Her  hair,  far  from  being 
tastefully  arranged,  was  mostly  concealed,  or 
supposed  to  be  concealed,  under  a  thick  cam- 


181       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

brie  night  cap,  and  over  this  she  wore  a 
calico  sun-bonnet,  smooth  and  clean,  but  other 
wise  having  little  to  recommend  it.  The  face 
beneath  was  a  curious  study  ;  intelligent,  but 
exceedingly  vulgar ;  sunburnt  to  a  shining 
brown,  and  with  teeth  nearly  the  same  color. 
Her  dress,  a  faded  but  clean  calico,  was 
tucked  about  her  person  quite  too  closely  to 
be  graceful,  and  her  bare  ankles  —  she  wore 
no  stockings  —  dangled  considerably  below 
the  bottom  of  her  skirt.  Shoes  of  the  coarsest 
and  clumsiest  fashion  encased  her  feet,  and 
her  hands  seemed  never  to  have  been  much 
used  to  gloves.  The  bridle  rein  was  twisted 
around  the  saddle  horn,  and  the  donkey 
guided  himself,  for  the  hands  of  the  woman 
found  employment  in  holding  fast  two 
children,  of  whom  the  eldest,  astride  the 
beast,  and  clinging  to  the  waist  of  his  mother, 
could  not  yet  have  seen  his  fifth  year.  This 
sturdy  and  independent,  looking  youth  wore  a 
hat  of  black  felt,  greatly  too  large  for  his 
head,  a  muslin  shirt,  tow  trousers,  and  leather 
suspenders.  His  dress  consisted  of  these  arti 
cles  alone. 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       185 

"All,  Mrs.  Muggins,  how  do  you  do?"  was 
my  uncle's  reply  to  the  woman's  salutation. 

"  O,  I  do  as  well  as  I  can  ;  how  is  your  old 
woman  ?" 

"  Thank  you,  I  left  Mrs.  Throckmorton  very 
well.  Your  children  seem  blessed  with  health, 
madam." 

"  Yes,  thank  Moses,  they  complain  of  good 
appetites  most  of  the  time." 

"I  have  not  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  your 
children  before  now,"  my  uncle  continued  ; 
and  patting  the  boy  on  the  cheek  he  paid  him 
some  compliment,  asking  if  the  others  were 
as  promising. 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Muggins,  "  they  are 
about  six  of  one  and  half  a  dozen  of  t'  other, 
but  my  old  man  thinks  this  the  greatest  boy 
that  ar'  going,"  and  she  unswathed  a  little 
baby  who  helped  in  preserving  her  balance, 
and  who  appeared  to  have  been  in  this  present 
world  but  a  very  limited  number  of  days. 

"  How  old  is  the  child  ?"  asked  our  uncle, 
in  apparent  surprise. 

"  As  old  again  as  half,"  replied  the  woman ; 
"  but  do  n't  you  think  he 's  some  ?  —  he  was  so 


186       MARRIED,    NOT   MATED. 

tickled  he  went  off  on  a  bender,  and  I  have  n't 
seen  head  nor  heels  of  him  for  the  last  three 
days." 

"  It  is  n't  possible!"  exclaimed  my  uncle 

"  Pshaw !  you  might  as  well  kill  me  as 
scare  me,"  replied  Mrs.  Muggins,  evidently 
wisely  superior  to  any  uneasiness  on  account 
of  the  bender. 

u  I  hope  he  is  not  habitually  intemperate," 
my  uncle  said. 

"  Intemperate,  your  granny  !  he  do  n't  drink 
enough  to  hurt  him,  and  what 's  the  use  of  a 
feller  never  having  any  good  of  his  life  ?" 

"  But  the  waste  of  money  and  time,  to  say 
nothing  of  health?" 

"  It  does  seem  so,  I  s'pose,  the  way  you  look 
at  it," 

"  I  believe,  madam,  I  must  say  good  even 
ing,"  and  uncle  Peter  bowed  politely. 

"!N"o  you  do  n't,  Major;  I've  got  a  heap  to 
say  yet,"  and  Mrs.  Muggins  released  one 
hand  and  dexterously  gave  the  hindmost  boy 
a  slap  across  the  ear,  for  he  had  been  all  this 
time  persuading  his  mother  to  ride  on  by  a 
series  of  blows  in  her  back  with  his  fist,  and 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       187 

repeated  kicks  against  her  person  with  his 
naked  feet,  accompanied  with  such  appeals  as 
"Thar,  now,  why  don't  you  cut  dirt?" 
"  Bone  along  with  yon,  Rache ;"  and  the  like. 
The  boy  "subsided"  on  receiving  the  blow, 
with  the  modest  reply  of,  "  .Well,  take  your 
time,  Miss  Lucy,"  and  turning  himself  toward 
the  donkey's  tail,  set  his  strength  lustily 
against  it.  His  smart  repartee  almost  con 
vulsed  the  woman  for  a  moment,  but  calming 
herself,  and  peering  into  the  coach,  she  said, 
"Are  these  the  young  ones,  Captain,  you 
have  took  for  to  raise  ?" 

"I  propose  to  have  them  for  a  time." 
"  How  old  be  you  ?  how  old  be  you  ?"  she 
asked,  nodding  first  towards  myself  and  then 
toward  Rose. 

When  we  had  told  our  respective  ages,  she 
said  we  were  big  enough  to  do  a  heap  of  work, 
but  that  one  of  us  (I  knew  she  meant  me)  had 
a  kind  of  a  sheepish  look  —  seemed  skeered  or 
something  —  a  good  deal  like  granmam's  boy 
did  when  he  thought  she  was  like  for  to  take 
after  him.  I  smiled,  and  she  went  on  to  say  I 


188       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

looked  a  little  more  peart,  maybe  I  would 
not  be  such  a  slow  coacli  after  all. 

She  then  asked  Uncle  Peter  how  long  our 
mother  was  sick,  and  when  she  died,  and  how 
the  corpse  looked,  and  if  we  "  took  it  very 
Lard,"  and  if  it  was  likely  our  father  would 
marry  again,  and  if  he  did  whether  we  chil 
dren  would  not  find  "  mother  "  a  big  mouthful. 
She  then  told  us  that  granmam's  Jim  *•  turned 
black  as  the  chimney  back  before  he  was 
buried,"  and  she  had  had  her  own  "  thoughts 
about  his  eating  some  of  the  pizen  posies  that 
Hen.  Graham  thought  so  dreadful  much  of." 

"  I  meant  to  go  over  to  your  house,  Colo 
nel,"  she  continued :  "  I  was  visiting  at  gran- 
mam's  to-day  —  but  a  body  has  so  much  to 
talk  about  when  a  body  goes  from  home,  it 
seems  as  if  the  time  fairly  flies.  I  guess, 
between  you  and  me,  they  do  n't  live  any  too 
happy  there  —  I  knowed  when  Hal  and  Netty 
got  married  they  were  going  it  blind  ;  Netty 
liked  Staff,  but  she  could  n't  get  him  —  that  is 
about  the  truth  of  it — and  so  she  took  up 
with  Hal ;  well,  go  it  ye  cripples  —  that 's  my 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.        189 

blessing  —  Staff  is  at  home  now,  and  he  is 
prouder  and  hatefuler  than  ever;  if  I  was  the 
blackest,  pizenest  critter  in  the  world,  he 
couldn't  make  himself  more  scarce  than  he 
does  when  I  go  there." 

"Really,  Mrs.  Muggins,  we  shall  have  to 
say  good-bye,"  said  rny  uncle,  almost  with 
petulance. 

Mrs.  Muggins  replied,  indignantly,  "In  a 
horn !  —  I  s'pose  because  you  got  the  dimes 
you  think  you  are  on  a  high  horse  beside  of 
us  ;  but  you  can  't  cut  off  our  legs,  I  guess,  and 
if  you  could  wooden  ones  are  cheap;  so  good 
bye  to  you,  reverend  Mr.  Throckmorton." 

"  Who  was  all  them  are,  Rache  ?"  asked  the 
elder  boy,  facing  about. 

"Oh,  they  think  they  are  some  punkins," 
replied  the  mother,  in  a  tone  so  loud  as  to  be 
distinctly  heard  by  us. 

Rosalie  was  greatly  amused  by  this  "  vision 
of  a  lady,"  as  she  called  our  meeting  with  Mrs. 
Muggins,  and  Uncle  Samuel  Peter  laughed 
immoderately  at  the  charming  humor  of  his 
ward,  scarcely  ceasing  till  we  arrived  at  the 
gate  of  Throckmorton  Hall. 


190          M  A  R  R  I  E  D  ,      NOT     MATED. 

.The  beauty  that  met  ray  gaze  on  descending 
from  the  carriage  did  not  quite  bewilder  me, 
as  I  had  been  led  to  expect  it  would.  The 
house  itself  was  large  and  showy,  and  the 
grounds  about  it  carefully  and  nicely  kept, 
but  the  glimpse  I  had  taken  of  Woodside  led 
me  to  think  it  more  charming.  Kosie  clapped 
her  hands,  saying,  "  ]STo  wonder  Uncle  Samuel 
Peter  keeps  young,  in  a  place  like  this;"  and 
away  she  ran,  up  one  walk  and  down  another, 
delighted  as  a  spring  bird,  while  I  walked 
silently  and  bashfully  toward  the  house. 

There  were  tears  in  Aunt  Sally's  eyes  as  she 
met  me  —  I  thought  at  first  because  she  was 
so  glad  to  see  me ;  but  with  a  glance  and  a 
smile  she  went  right  past  me,  and  throwing 
her  arms  about  Uncle  Peter,  embraced  him  as 
though  she  had  not  seen  him  for  twenty  years 
"  Oh,  my  dear,  I  am  so  glad!  I  was  so  afraid ! 
and  has  nothing  happened,  and  do  you  feel 
well,  perfectly  well,  my  dear?"  she  repeated 
over  and  again,  holding  his  hands  and  look- 
in  sr  in  his  face  as  a  saint  would  look  into 

O 

heaven. 

"  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Throckmorton,"  replied 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       191 

Uncle  Peter,  benignly,  releasing  himself  with 
out  returning  her  embrace  ;  "  I  feel  very  tired, 
very  tired;  I  think  I  could  eat  a  spring 
chicken." 

Aunt  Sally  did  not  say  tea  was  waiting,  as 
it  was,  but  hastened  to  order  the  chicken  to 
be  caught  and  dressed,  and  in  a  few  moments 
Westley  announced  that  such  a  service  had 
been  effected. 

Aunt  Sally  soon  brought  gown  and  slippers, 
and  unknotting  the  ribbon  of  his  overcoat, 
helped  him  put  them  on.  "I  wish,  my  dear, 
you  had  brought  down  my  reading  chair, 
too,"  said  Uncle  Peter ;  and  away  she  went 
again,  but  it  was  long  before  she  came  back. 
Alas !  Uncle  Peter  had  no  reading  chair,  and 
she  knew  it  before  she  set  out  on  her  fruitless 
search,  but  so  accustomed  was  she  to  making 
some  sort  of  shift  to  meet  his  wishes,  that  she 
would  have  essayed  to  obey  him  if  he  had 
told  her  to  bring  in  the  moon. 

The  husband  never  once  thought  to  ask 
her  if  she  were  well ;  of  course  she  was ;  he 
never  knew  her  to  be  otherwise.  When 
she  stooped  to  kiss  me,  to  say  I  must  not  be 


192      MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

lonesome,  but  amuse  myself  till  tea-time  in 
the  garden,  and  that  I  should  then  have  an 
opportunity  of  seeing  more  of  my  good  uncle, 
he  replied  that  I  would  not  profit  much  by 
his  counsels  —  I  was  not  wise  enough,  in  short, 
to  understand  him ;  he  would  give  me  to  her ; 
but  his  charming  ward,  Kosie  —  where  was 
the  dear  girl  ?  and  our  dignified  relation  was 
soon  rolling  on  the  grass  like  a  boy,  while 
Rosie  threw  flowers  about  him. 

"  You  are  a  good  girl,  I  hope,"  Aunt  Sally 
said,  presently,  as  I  sat  quietly  in  one  corner, 
trying  to  be  as  much  out  of  the  way  as  I 
could,  for  I  felt  afraid  and  not  quite  welcome. 
I  answered  that  I  had  tried  to  be  good,  and 
she  looked  at  me  inquiringly,  and  replied,  "  I 
hope  you  are,  for  if  Mr.  Throckmorton  should 
dislike  you  what  could  I  do?  That  is  my 
footstool  you  are  sitting  on,"  she  continued ; 
"  maybe  he  will  want  it ;  I  guess  you  had  bet 
ter  go  to  your  own  room  and  stay  till  tea- 
time." 

I  obeyed  with  a  heavy  heart,  for  I  felt  that 
it  was  to  withdraw  me  from  Uncle  Peter's  ob 
servation  that  the  suggestion  was  made.  I 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       193 

heard  the  merry  laugh  of  .Rosalie,  and  tears 
fell  silently  as  the  consciousness  of  my  isola 
tion  increased;  I  thought  of  our  own  quiet 
home,  and  the  meadow  with  the  sheep  by  the 
brookside ;  and  the  sugar  camp  beyond  ;  they 
seemed  far  prettier  to  me  than  "  the  Hall." 

I  tried  to  dry  my  eyes  after  a  time,  and 
stole  to  the  great  looking-glass  with  a  deter 
mination  to  observe  myself  narrowly,  for  I 
began  to  think  I  must  look  very  ugly,  else 
why  should  my  uncle  dislike  me  ?  I  had  said 
nothing,  I  was  sure,  to  offend  him.  The  glass 
was  in  a  frame  bright  as  gold,  but  surely,  1 
had  never  appeared  half  so  plain  in  the  little 
cracked  glass  at  home.  My  eyes  were  swol 
len  and  my  cheeks  pale,  and  my  frock,  though 
just  like  Rosalie's,  it  seemed  to  me  was  more 
faded  and  less  becoming. 

When  a  servant  called  me  to  tea  I  thought 
Aunt  Sally  had  not  sent  the  invitation,  and  so 
declined  to  go,  saying  I  was  not  hungry.  My 
sensitive  and  suspicious  heart  was  my  greatest 
enemy.  I  did  not  know  it. 

And  so  inauspiciously  began  my  life  at 
"Throckmorton  Hall." 

9 


MARRIED.    NOT    MATBI, 


CHAPTER    III. 

MANY  tilings  came  under  my  observation 
in  the  course  of  a  month's  residence  at 
Uncle  Peter's,  which  led  me  to  believe  he  -was 
a  man  of  mark  in  the  estimation  of  most  of 
his  neighbors.  As  for  my  good  Aunt  Sally,  she 
had  no  idea  that  the  world  contained  his  equal. 
I  think  she  must  have  felt  that  she  was  blessed 
above  all  women,  and  that  in  her  prayers  and 
thanksgivings  she  was  wont  to  say,  "  what 
have  I  done  for  heaven  that  I  should  be  my 
husband's  wife?"  Simple  minded  and  credu 
lous  woman!  —  she  thought  herself  incapable 
of  comprehending  his  profound  wisdom  and 
greatness,  but  I  am  strongly  inclined  to  sus 
pect  what  seemed  wisdom  and  greatness  to 


MAKEIED,    NOT    MATED.       195 

her,  were  in  reality  foolishness  and  excessive 

littleness. 

I  made  some  timid  overtures  for  the  affec 
tions  of  my  uncle,  but  they  were  fruitless  ; 
he  was  not  capable  of  understanding  a  gentle 
appeal ;  it  was  only  the  boldest  demands  that 
he  could  appreciate. 

My  Uncle  Peter,  or  Samuel  P.  I.  T.  Throck- 
mortori,  for  so  he  wrote  his  name,  was  in  one 
sense  of  the  word,  certainly,  an  extraordinary 
person,  standing  six  feet  in  his  stockings,  and 
exceeding  in  portliness  most  men  it  was  ever 
my  fortune  to  see.  I  do  n't  know  why,  but  I 
never  couid  become  familiar  with  his  dimen 
sions,  and  each  successive  time  I  found  myself 
in  his  presence,  a  new  button  off,  or  another  slit 
in  shoe  or  glove,  impressed  me  with  a  new  con 
viction  of  his  unapproachable  dimensions. 
Indeed,  he  never  had  vest,  trousers,  or  coat, 
quite  equal  to  his  needs ;  whether  the  fault  of 
his  tailor,  or  whether  he  grew  between  the 
time  of  the  measurement  for  a  suit  and  the 
finishing,  I  do  n't  know,  but  certain  it  is,  that 
always  he  puffed  out  like  a  cushion  through 
every  opening  of  his  vestments.  He  was  bluff 


196       MARRIED,    -NOT    MATED. 

and   rough,  and   never   having   had  any   ill- 
health,  he  had  never  the  least  sympathy  for  • 
the  weaknesses  of  others. 

"  There  is  no  need  of  sickness,"  he  used  to 
say,   "  if  people  will  only  take  a  little  care. 
Now  I  have  never  been  sick  a  day  in  my  life, 
and  it  is  all  owing  to  my  caution.     I  do  n't 
suppose  I  am  made  out  of  better  stuff  than 
others,  but  I  am  prudential  and  abstemious." 
So  Uncle  Peter  would  declare,  day  after  day, 
greatly  to  the  edification   of  Aunt  Sally  and 
the   amusement    of    Rose,    who   with   hearty 
laughter  never  failed  to  sanction  the  assertion 
that  he  was  made  of  no  better  material  than 
other   men.      But   though   Samuel   P.    I.    T. 
Throckmorton  had  never  been  sick,  he  gave 
himself  a  degree  of  credit  for  caution  which 
he   did   not    deserve.      It   was   constitutional 
ability  that  resisted  disease,  and  no  wise  regu 
lation  of  his  habits.     He  was  accustomed  to 
drink    a   pint    of   whisky    every    day    (some 
persons  required  just  that  quantity,  Aunt  Sally 
said),  and  to  cat  as   much    roast  beef,  plum- 
pudding,  rich  sauces   and   condiments,  as  his 
capacious  stomach   would   hold  ;  in   short,  to 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       197 

indulge  his  appetite  in  every  way  to  an  unlim 
ited  extent.  He  never  took  exercise  on  foot 
—  that  was  beneath  his  dignity' — 'but,  even 
in  giving  orders  about  "the  Hall,"  rode  in  a 
sulky,  only  large  enough  to  receive  its 
appointed  burden ;  and  when  circumstances 
called  him  abroad,  dozed  in  a  coach  as  ple 
thoric  as  himself.  In  excursions  through  the 
farm  and  neighborhood  he  sometimes  took 
Rosalie  with  him,  but  never  me  ;  it  seemed  as 
if  I  required  more  room  than  she,  he  used  to 
say,  when  Aunt  Sally  tremblingly  suggested 
that  maybe  I  would  like  a  ride.  She  could 
not  exactly  understand  how  it  was,  but  that  it 
was  so  was  undeniable.  Ah !  that  unpro 
nounceable  Samuel  Peter  I.  T.  cost  me  a  great 
deal. 

There  were,  by  the  way,  one  or  two  health 
insurances  which  Uncle  Peter  scrupulously 
observed.  He  always  kept  half  a  dozen  aper 
tures  in  the  crown  of  his  hat  for  the  admis 
sion  of  air,  wore  a  galvanized  ring,  which 
was  almost  concealed  by  the  superabundant 
wealth  of  flesh  upon  his  fingers ;  and  would 
never  taste  the  milk  of  a  black  cow  —  to  him 


198       MARRIED,    NOT    MA  T  E  D  . 

it  was  rank  poison.  It  was  strange,  Aunt 
Sally  said,  that  Mr.  Throckmorton  should 
know  this  positively,  without  ever  having 
tasted  such  milk  ;  nevertheless  she  classed  it 
with  the  intuitive  discoveries  and  unquestion 
able  perceptions  of  his  genius.  A  man  of  iron 
constitution,  and  never  having  been  exposed 
to  hardships,  he  had  resisted  to  an  unusual 
degree,  up  to  his  sixtietli  year,  the  natural 
wear  and  tear  of  life ;  and  he  was  never 
weary  of  boasting  that  his  good  condition 
resulted  more  from  his  intellectual  and  moral, 
than  from  any  physical  superiority. 

However  much  such  conclusions  may  be 
shunned  by  the  reasoning  faculties,  it  is  true, 
beyond  all  doubt,  that  most  persons  feel  that 
there  is  a  correspondence,  a  harmony,  a  pro- 

» 

portion  of  some  sort,  between  a  man's  cor 
poreal  and  incorporeal  attributes.  The  gener 
ous  Boniface  is  portly,  as  the  knave  is  lean. 
"With  the  first  sight  of  Uncle  Peter,  completely 
filling  the  seat  of  his  sulky,  there  was  an 
impression  that  he  was  a  superior  character. 
The  weight  of  his  opinion,  in  the  neighbor 
hood  affairs,  as  against  that  of  little  Jenkins, 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       199 

the  saddler,  could  be  determined  exactly  by  the 
scales  in  front  of  the  tavern.  If  mind  and 
matter  have  a  fixed  relation  of  quantity,  what 
mental  resources  were  hidden  under  that  capa 
cious  coat !  Three  Jenkinses  were  scarcely 
equal  to  one  Throckmortoii.  And  the  autho 
rity  of  wealth  is  every  where  recognized  in 
the  same  way.  How  could  my  Uncle  Peter 
be  so  much  richer  than  Jenkins  except  by  his 
greater  wit,  his  sounder  judgment,  his  more 
indefectable  virtue  ?  Jenkins's  garden  was  in 
excellent  condition,  but  it  gave  him  but  one 
acre  of  public  confidence,  to  Uncle  Peter's 
five  'hundred.  All  the  people  about  were 
seeking  to  be  enlightened  respecting  Uncle 
Peter's  views,  but  the  poor  little  saddler  could 
not  detain  the  meanest  voter  by  the  button  for 
even  a  moment.  My  excellent  aunt  was  not 
ignorant  of  all  these  manifestations  of  defer 
ence  ;  why  should  not  Uncle  Peter  be  regarded 
by  her  as  a  great  man  ?  He  was  great  in  per 
son,  great  in  property,  great  in  the  esteem  of 
his  neighbors,  and  unapproachably  great  in  his 
own  conceit. 

I  remember,  as  an  illustration  of  the  impor 


200       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

tance  in  which  his  opinion  was  held,  that 
when  a  new  turnpike  was  made,  the  judgment 
of  all  inferior  stockholders  yielded  to  his,  and 
a  bend  which  took  in  various  hills  and  hollows, 
was  made,  greatly  to  the  detriment  of  the 
general  interest,  merely  for  the  sake  of  avoid 
ing  Uncle  Peter's  barn.  Everybody  said  it 
was  right  to  make  the  bend ;  it  gave  variety, 
and  added  to  the  romance  of  the  scenery. 
But  when  the  surveyor  struck  through  the 
snug  little  house  of  Solomon  Delver,  a  man 
employed  by  the  company  to  break  stone, 
nobody  thought  it  would  be  of  any  use  to 
make  another  bend,  and  Solomon  had  neither 
wisdom  nor  eloquence  to  save  his  domicil 
from  destruction. 

When  the  new  school-master  came,  after  a 
deliberative  council,  which  was  all  a  sham,  the 
trustees  laid  the  case  before  Samuel  P.  I.  T. 
Throckmorton  Esquire,  who  had  no  children 
to  educate,  and  would  not,  one  would  suppose, 
feel  so  lively  an  interest  in  educational  matters 
as  men  with  families.  Nevertheless  his  care 
less  decision  was  the  law.  In  reality  he  was 
the  despot  of  a  little  kingdom,  and  great  was 


M  A  tt  Ji  I  E  D  ,      NOT      M  A  T  E  J)  .          201 

the  consternation  which  pervaded  its  borders, 
when  it  was  rumored  that  he  was  ill,  and  had 
sent  fifty  miles  for  an  eminent  surgeon  to  visit 
him  — •  a  man  who,  in  the  ordinary  practice  of 
medicine,  was  of  little  repute. 

On  returning  from  a  dinner  party  at  Squire 
Thornton's,  one  day,  Uncle  Peter  professed 
himself  somewhat  indisposed,  and  though, 
perhaps,  a  little  exercise  and  abstinence  would 
have  operated  as  restoratives,  he  was  of  a  dif 
ferent  opinion,  and  tumbling  himself  into  bed, 
and  being  smothered  in  blankets,  and  having 
hot  bricks  at  his  feet,  sought  by  a  liberal  allow 
ance  of  confections  to  renew  the  healthy  action 
of  his  digestive  organs.  Aunt  Sally  grew 
more  fidgety  and  nervous  than  usual,  and 
having  been  all  her  life  accustomed  to  rely 
with  implicit  confidence  on  the  judgment  of 
her  husband,  did  so  now  that  his  indisposition 
unbalanced  the  little  sagacity  h^  possessed 
when  in  his  best  condition.  It  soon  became 
apparent,  notwithstanding  Uncle  Peter's  stoi 
cal  pretensions  hitherto,  that  he  was  likely 
to  make  an  example  of  himself  not  at  all  in 
keeping  with  his  promises  or  his  intentions. 


202       M  A  B  B  i  E  D  ,    NOT    MATED. 

Frightened  and  half-crazed,  Aunt  Sally  ran 
up  and  down  stairs,  bringing  whatever  the 
sick  man  required,  without  question  or  hesita 
tion  —  now  hot  soup,  and  now  cider  or  whisky, 
now  a  mustard  plaster,  and  now  the  contents 
of  some  old  bottle  of  medicine,  originally  de 
signed  to  cure  no  one  knew  what.  Under  this 

O 

desultory  and  not  very  scientific  treatment 
the  patient  grew  worse  in  the  course  of  a  few 
hours,  and  when  the  night  came,  was  persuaded 
into  believing  himself  greatly  worse  than  he 
really  was.  Uncle  Peter  could  not  endure 
even  a  slight  headache  calmly,  that  was  past 
a  doubt. 

"  Oh,  if  I  could  only  suffer  for  you !"  Aunt 
Sally  kept  saying ;  "  I  am  used  to  headaches, 
and  it  is  so  much  harder  for  you,  who  never 
felt  a  pain  till  now  !" 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Throckmorton,  I  wish  you 
could,"  Uncle  Peter  would  answer,  and  Aunt 
Sally  thought  he  was  very  good  to  notice  her 
at  all. 

Such  a  groaning  and  moaning  he  made,  and 
Aunt  Sally  so  often  wiped  her  eyes,  that 
my  sympathies  were  enlisted,  and  I  feared 


M  A  li  11 1  E  D  ,    NO  T    MATED.       203 

Uncle  Peter  really  would  die,  especially  when 
the  great  surgeon.  Dr.  Cutaway,  was  sent  for. 
Rose  seemed  not  at  all  astonished,  but  read 
on  in  some  book  in  which  she  was  interested, 
all  the  time,  looking  up  now  and  then,  it  is 
true,  to  ask  Uncle  Samuel  Peter  how  he  felt. 
It  did  him  good  to  see  her  so  calm.  Uncle 
Peter  said :  Mrs.  Throckmorton  and  Orpha 
did  him  more  harm  than  good  by  their  offi- 
ciousness.  I  went  apart  to  cry,  and  Aunt 
Sally  followed  me,  to  say  I  must  not  be  vexed 
with  my  poor  uncle,  he  was  so  sick,  that  he 
did  n't  know  what  he  said. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening  Uncle  Peter's 
punctilious  politeness  to  his  dear  Mrs.  Throck 
morton  underwent  considerable  modification. 
First,  he  addressed  that  amiable  woman  as 
dear  Sarah  Anna  —  then  as  dear  Sarah' — • 
then  he  began  to  say  simply  "  Sally,  my 
dear;"  but  before  ten  o'clock  it  was  all  •'  Sally 
'Ann!  Oh,  Sally  Ann!"  The  great  Mr. 
Samuel  P.  I.  T.  Throckmorton  was  changed  : 

O  f 

he  was  reduced  by  intense  and  torturing 
pain  to  a  forgetfulness  of  his  own  dignified 
importance. 


204:        MAKKIKD,    NOT    MATED. 

"  "What  shall  I  do  for  you  now  ?"  and  "  "What 
shall  I  do  for  you  now  2"  was  the  constant 
appeal  of  the  wife,  though  physically  exhaust 
ed,  and  unable  to  think  of  a  new  expedient 
with  which  to  amuse  his  mind. 

"  Oh,  Sally  Ann !  I  want  somebody  to 
come.  Can't  you  send  for  somebody,  Sally 
Ann?  It  seems  to  me  every  minute  is  an 
hour.  Ain  't  the  clock  wrong  ?  Oh  !  what 
shall  I  do  ?  I  'm  so  bad,  it  seems  to  me  I 
can 't  live  from  one  moment  to  another.  There, 
Westley,  go  for  Mrs.  Perrin  —  tell  her  to  come 
as  quick  as  she  can  :  tell  her,  her  friend,  Mr. 
Throckmorton,  is  dangerously  ill ;  and  be  sure 
to  be  particular  and  say  friend.  We  are  all 
poor,  frail  creatures ;  and  I  feel  as  if  I  was 
the  friend  of  everybody.  I  have  not  a  hard 
thought  laid  up  against  anybody  in  the  world. 
Oh,  Sally  Ann !  I  wish  all  my  friends  were 
here.  I  feel  as  if  I  wanted  to  ask  them  to 
forgive  me,  if  I  have  ever  done  them  any 
wrong.  Oh,  how  differently  a  man  looks  at 
things  when  he  happens  to  be  on  his  death 
bed  !" 

Westley  started  at  once,  to  say  to  Mrs.  Per- 


M  A  B  B  IE  D  ,      NO  T     M  A  T  E  D  .         205 

riii  that  her  friend  was  dangerously  ill ;  and 
Rosie  slily  turned  away  lier  face  to  conceal 
the  effect  of  such  an  absurd  suggestion  upon 
her  countenance. 

Westley  had  not  gone  twenty  yards  when  I 
was  sent  after  him  in  all  haste.  Uncle  Peter 
had  changed  his  mind,  and  would  have  him 
go  first  for  Deacon  Dole  ;  he  felt  in  a  serious 
frame  of  mind,  and  believed  the  deacon  was 
a  good  man,  if  there  was  such  a  thing  in  the 
world. 

Long  before  it  was  time  for  him  to  have 
delivered  the  message,  the  querulous  invalid 
exclaimed,  "  Oh,  Sally  Ann!  do  you  think  that 
boy  will  ever  get  back  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  my  dear ;  it  is  not  time  yet." 

"  Well,  do  you  think  the  deacon  will  come, 
Sally  Ann?" 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  he  will  surely  come,  if  he 
is  at  home." 

"  But,  Sally  Ann,  will  he  be  at  home  ?" 

"Yes,  it's  most  likely." 

"  Well,  then,  how  long  will  he  bo  getting 
there,  Sally  Ann  ?" 


206       M  A  it  it  i 


"  Perhaps  an  hour,  my  dear  Mr.  Throck- 
morton." 

"  That  will  be  so  long  ;  I  can  't  wait  :  I 
wish  he  had  not  gone  ;  I  wish  he  would  come 
back  ;  I  wish  we  had  sent  for  old  Mrs.  Per- 
rin,  and  not  for  the  deacon  at  all  ;  I'm  afraid 
he  can  't  do  me  any  good  ;  do  you  think  he 
can,  Sally  ?  Do  you  think  a  deacon  is  likely 
to  do  a  sick  man  good  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  am  sure  Deacon  Dole  will  do 
you  good  ;  he  is  a  kind,  sympathizing  sort  of 
a  man." 

"  Oh,  Sally  Ann  !  I  do  n't  want  sympathy  : 
what  good  would  that  do  me  ?" 

"  I  did  n't  say  sympathy,"  said  Aunt  Sally, 
"  I  said  sensible." 

"  Oh,  Lord  !  Sally,  you  say  anything  :  you 
do  n't  know  what  you  say." 

Aunt  Sally  freely  admitted  that  she  did  not 
always  know  what  she  said  ;  but  Uncle  Peter 
was  not  to  be  pacified:  he  felt  so  awfully  bad, 
how  could  he  be  ? 

"  I  wish  we  had  sent  for  Mrs.  Perrin,"  he 
resumed,  after  an  interval  of  groans. 


MARKIED,    NOT    MATED.       207 

"  I  wish  we  had,"  said  Aunt  Sally  ;  "  she  is 
a  good  nurse." 

"  Sally  Ann,  go  to  the  window,  and  the 
moment  you  see  Westley,  order  him  to  go 
after  Mrs.  Perrin,  as  hard  as  he  can  drive." 

"  I  will,  my  dear." 

"  Are  you  at  the  window  now  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  am  at  the  window." 

"  Well,  then,  do  you  see  him,  Sally  Ann  ?" 

"  No,  dear  Mr.  Throckmorton  ; .  I  wish  I 
did." 

"  Oh,  mercy !  Sally,  can  't  you  hear  him, 
then?" 

"  ifo,  dear  Mr.  Throckmorton." 

"  Just  faintly  —  a  great  way  off?" 

"No." 

"  Oh,  mercy,  mercy,  mercy !  how  soon  do 
you  think  you  can  hear  ?" 

"  In  ten  minutes,  I  guess." 

"  Ten  minutes!  bless  me!  that  is  long  enough 
for  a  man  to  die  and  go  to  heaven." 

"  Yes,  Uncle  Samuel  Peter,"  said  Rosie, 
"  or  to  a  less  agreeable  place." 

Uncle  Peter  left  off  groaning  long  enough 
to  say  his  ward  was  the  wittiest  young  lady 


208       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

he  had  ever  the  pleasure  of  knowing,  bul 
hastened  to  add,  "  Oh  !  Sally  Ann,  do  n't  you 
see  that  boy  ?  I  wish  we  had  sent  for  Mrs. 
Perrin  ;  do  you  think  she  can  do  any  good, 
Sally  Ann  ?" 

"  Yes ;  she  has  been  in  sickness  a  great 
deal,  and  she  is  good  company,  too." 

"  I  wish  "Westley  would  come.  Do  you  see 
him,  Sally  Ann  ?  Oh,  dear  me  !  oh!  my" — 

"  Are  you  in  great  pain,  my  dear  Mr. 
Throckmorton  ?" 

"  No,  Sally  Ann ;  but  I  am  so  sick  every 
way." 

"  What  can  I  do,  my  husband  ?" 

"  Oh,  Sally  Ann !  I  do  n't  want  you  to  do 
anything ;  nothing  you  can  do  will  do  me 
any  good.  Give  me  a  drink  of  cold  water, 
and  a  spoonful  or  two  of  custard,  and  put  the 
quilt  over  me,  and  take  the  blanket  off;  make 
me  some  hot  tea  and  a  piece  of  toast,  and  wet 
a  brown  paper  with  vinegar,  and  tie  it  on  my 
head,  and  shake  up  my  pillows,  and  put  the 
top  one  down  —  it 's  as  hot  as  fire  —  and  the 
down  one  up.  Ain  't  I  fallen  away  a  good 
deal  ?  Chafe  my  temples  with  your  hands  — • 


MARKIED,    NOT    MATED.       209 

harder,  harder,  harder !  Why  don't  you  get 
me  the  cold  water,  or  the  hot  tea?  I  want  them 
both.  Oh,  Sally  Ann !  you  can  7t  do  anything 
forme' — nothing  in  the  world.  Is  that  boy 
coming  ?  he  has  been  gone  a  montK.  Oh, 
why  don't  yon  make  me  better?" 

Such  were  some  of  the  demands  made  on 
the  time  and  temper  of  good  and  patient  little 
Aunt  Sally.  No  wonder  she  was  worn  down 
in  the  course  of  a  few  honrs,  and  willing  to 
send  for  Deacon  Dole  or  anybody  else. 

In  twenty  minutes  after  he  had  been  des 
patched,  Westley  returned,  bringing  intelli 
gence  that  the  Deacon  would  be  there  almost 
as  soon  as  himself;  but  Uncle  Peter  persisted 
in  sending  for  Mrs.  Perrin  —  "  She  can  ride 
over  on  your  horse,  and  you  can  walk,"  he 
said  ;  "  there  is  no  time  to  harness  the  horses. 
Tell  her  to  come  if  she  will  be  so  good  —  so 
very  good — and  pass  the  night  with  me,  if  I 
should  live  all  night.  Be  sure  and  say  if  she 
will  be  so  very  good." 

"  Oh  Sally  Ann !  ain't  it  time  for  the  Deaeoa 
to  be  here  ?" 

"  Do  you  feel  any  worse  ?" 


210       MARRIED,    NOT  MATED. 

His  answer  was  interrupted  by  a  soft  knock 
ing  011  the  door ;  the  deacon  had  waived  all 
ceremony,  in  view  of  the  urgency  of  the  case, 
and  entered  the  house  without  ringing.  He 
trod  softly,  as  though  in  the  presence  of  death, 
and  having  wrung  the  hand  of  Aunt  Sally,  in 
silence,  approached  the  bedside,  saying  sor 
rowfully,  "Bad  enough,  Mr.  Throckmorton, 
ain't  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  Deacon  Dole,  I  am  very  low." 

u  A  high  fever,  and  increasing,  I  should  say. 
"What  have  you  done  for  him,  Mrs.  Throck 
morton  ?" 

The  deacon  shook  his  head  ;  he  had  seen 
many  similar  cases,  and  critical  as  this  one 
wras  (he  spoke  low  and  looked  dubious),  he 
believed,  if  Mr.  Throckmorton  would  submit 
to  his  direction,  there  would  be  little  for  Dr. 
Cutaway  to  do  on  his  arrival.  He  did  not 
pretend  but  that  the  patient  was  in  a  most 
dangerous  state,  and  advised  him  to  be  pre 
pared  for  the  worst,  for  human  skill  was  often 
unavailing ;  and  though  he  had  great  con 
fidence  in  the  remedies  he  proposed,  his  skill 
might  and  probably  would  be  baffled.  So,  in 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       211 

the  beginning  of  the  deacon's  treatment,  the 
fears  of  the  patient  were  greatly  augmented  — 
to  such  a  degree,  indeed,  that  he  would  have 
accepted  any  treatment. 

"Oh,  Sally  Ann!"  he  cried,  "do  get  what 
ever  the  good  deacon  wants,  and  let  him  cure 
me." 

"  Do  n't  be  too  sanguine,  my  friend,"  the 
deacon  replied  solemnly  ;  "  yon  are  very  sick 
now,  and  it  may  not  be  in  the  power  of  earthly 
medicine  to  do  you  any  good." 

All  the  hot  bricks  were  carried  away, 
all  the  clothing  tossed  off,  a  chair  curiously 
propped  beneath  the  pillows,  the  brown  paper, 
wet  with  vinegar,  thrown  into  the  fire,  and  a 
half-gallon  of  saltish  warm  water  administered. 
After  the  desired  effect  had  been  produced, 
the  patient  found  himself  tremulously  weak, 
and  felt  that  he  was  growing  worse  every 
moment,  and  sent  another  messenger  for  the 
surgeon,  fifty  miles  away,  though  of  its  availing 
anything  there  was  no  hope,  one  having  been 
sent  six  or  eight  hours  previously. 

To  encourage  and  confirm  his  patient  in  the 
increasing  alarm  he  felt,  the  deacon  talked 


212       MAKRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

of  all  the  horrible  diseases  he  had  ever  known  ; 
of  all  the  sudden  deaths,  and  all  the  death-bed 
omens  ;  and  told  how  such  a  man  had  been 
well  at  six  o'clock,  and  a  corpse  at  eight ;  how 
another,  from  going  into  a  cellar,  when  he  wras 
in  a  heated  state,  had  caught  his  death  cold  ; 
and  with  various  other  mournful  reminis 
cences,  calculated  to  enfeeble  even  the  bravest 
courage,  he  followed  up  his  first  prescription. 
At  length  Uncle  Peter  announced  his  belief 
that  he  could  not  survive  the  night,  upon 
which  the  deacon  consulted,  in  whispers,  with 
the  almost  frantic  wife,  and  returning  to  the 
bedside,  groaning  sympathetically,  applied 
cloths,  wret  with  camphor,  to  the  nose  and 
mouth  of  the  wretched  man,  and  sedately 
waved  before  his  face  a  large  palm  leaf  fan, 
as  if  to  keep  life  in  him  as  long  as  possible. 

At  this  stage  of  affairs  a  little  woman, 
dressed  in  black,  bustled  into  the  room,  and 
in  a  lively,  cheerful  voice,  inquired  what 
seemed  to  be  the  matter. 

The  deacon  shook  his  head,  and  leading  her 
mournfully  aside,  communicated,  in  a  whisper 
so  loud  that  both  Aunt  Sally  and  Uncle  Peter 


M  A  K  K  1  K  ])  ,      NO  T      M  A  T  K  D  .  213 

must  have  heard  it  distinctly,  the  intelligence 
that  the  patient  could  not  live  till  midnight  — 
if  he  revived,  he  might  possibly  last  till  morn 
ing,  but  no  longer. 

"  Hi !  hi 1"  replied  Mrs.  Pen-in,  "  do  n't  tell 
me  such  scare-crow  stories  as  that:  he  ain't 
going  to  die  to-night  more  than  you  be."  And 
approaching  the  bed  she  was  about  to  speak 
when  the  deacon,  resuming  his  charge,  called 
her  a  meddlesome  old  woman. 

Uncle  Peter  really  thought  himself  too  ill 
to  notice  her,  and  Aunt  Sally  was  scarcely 
mistress  of  her  actions  ;  so,  Mrs.  Pen-in,  taking 
umbrage,  as  well  she  might,  floundered  out 
of  the  room,  saying  "She  didn't  think  Mr. 
Throckmorton  needed  anything  but  a  little 
nursing  —  she  had  been  up  elsewhere  two 
nights,  and  was  almost  sick  herself." 

An  hour  passed,  during  which  the  salt  water 
was  freely  administered,  while  the  sick  man 
mingled  his  groans  with  calls  on  Sally  Ann, 
who,  poor  woman,  sat  wringing  her  hands  and 
weeping. 

At  the  end  of  that  time  the  deacon  took  the 
responsibility  of  calling  in  Farmer  Hatfield ; 


214  M  A  K  R  I  E  D  ,      NOT      MATED. 

apologizing  to  Aunt  Sally,  by  saying  "  He 
might  be  needed  before  morning." 

"  Oh,  Sally  Ann !  Sally  Ann !  can't  you  roast 
me  some  potatoes,  and  give  me  some  brandy 
and  water,  I  just  want  to  see  if  I  can  swallow; 
and  read  me  a  sermon,  or  ask  the  deacon  to 
read  one." 

"  Yes,  dear  Mr.  Throckmorton ;"   and   the 

ashes  were  filled  with  potatoes,  the  brandy 

and  water  mixed,  and  the  sermon  brought ; 

•but  the  deacon  had  not  got  through  the  first 

sentence  when  Farmer  Hatfield  came  in. 

He  wore  a  cheerful  but  interested  look,  and 
taking  Uncle  Peter's  hand,  said  he  was  right 
sick,  but  not  dangerously  so  ;  and  after  a  little 
talk  about  the  late  damp  weather,  rheumatism, 
&c.,  he  grew  more  cheerful,  spoke  of  the  elec 
tion,  the  next  presidency,  and  affairs  generally. 

The  patient  professed  himself  better,  or,  to 
use  his  own  words,  he  "  breathed  a  little 
easier." 

Mr.  Hatfield  was  a  man  of  impulses ;  and 
upon  one  of  them,  he  arose  and  poured  the 
salt  and  water  into  the  fire,  and  said  lie  could 
concoct  a  medicine  of  a  few  favorite  roota 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       215 

and  herbs  that  would  be  miraculous  in  its 
effects. 

"  Oh,  my  good  Mr.  Hatfield,  do  you  think  it 
possible  for  me  to  live  ?"  asked  the  patient, 
opening  his  eyes,  and  speaking  with  more 
animation  than  he  had  before  for  some  hours. 

"Why,  to  be  sure,"  replied  Mr.  Hatfield. 
"  I  will  go  home  and  bring  from  my  garden 
the  things  I  have  mentioned  ;  meantime,  you 
must  have  a  flannel  shirt  on,  and  have  your 
arms  and  face  bathed  with  camphor :  flannel 
and  camphor  applied  in  time  will  cure  almost 
any  disease,  but,  in  the  state  you  are  in,  you 
will  need  a  little  strengthening  syrup." 

And  with  the  assurance  that  he  would  return 
early  in  the  morning,  bringing  the  medicine, 
which  could  not  possibly  do  any  harm,  even  if 
it  did  no  good,  he  departed  ;  and  the  deacon, 
shortly  after,  a  little  offended,  took  his  leave. 
Uncle  Peter  renewed  his  exclamations  of  "  Oh 
Sally  Ann  !"  but  was  so  exhausted  physically, 
and  so  relieved  mentally,  that  he  presently  fell 
asleep,  and  woke  not  until  sunrise  the  next 
morning. 

Mr.  Middleton  was  the  first  visitor  of  the 


216       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

day ;  he  was  glad  to  find  his  friend  no  worse, 
and  begged  to  be  allowed  to  send  his  own 
family  physician  to  prescribe  for  him,  till  the 
arrival  of  the  one  already  summoned.  Delays 
were  dangerous,  and  this  physician  had  given 
perfect  satisfaction  to  a  great  number  of 
families,  for  years,  so  that  he  could  cordially 
recommend  him.  K  Now,  rny  dear  Mr.  Throck- 
morton,  do  allow  me  this  pleasure,"  concluded 
Mr.  Middletori.  Uncle  Peter  was  prevailed 
upon,  and  so  much  better  in  consequence  of 
the  sleep  he  had  had,  that  he  actually  arose, 
and  in  gown  and  slippers  awaited  the  con 
sultation;  and  furthermore,  he  expressed  a 
hope  that  that  miserable  bore,  Mr.  Hatfield, 
would  not  trouble  him  with  his  simples.  He 
was  falling  back  on  his  old  self-sufficiency, 
when  that  kindhearted  neighbor  returned, 
with  a  brown  earthen  jar  of  syrup,  and  one 
of  his  own  new  red  flannel  shirts.  Uncle 
Peter  thanked  him  civilly,  and,  without  com 
municating  the  fact  of  Mr.  Middleton's  visit, 
or  its  result,  managed  politely  to  get  his 
honest-minded  friend  out  of  the  house  before 
the  arrival  of  the  doctor ;  and  well  it  was  for 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.        217 

Mr.  Hatfield's  peace  of  mind  that  he  did  so, 
as  otherwise  he  would  have  seen  his  precious 
preparations  very  contemptuously  tossed  aside. 
Aunt  Sally  could  not  be  thankful  enough ; 
she  had.  prayed  all  night  for  her  dear  hus 
band's  restoration,  she  said,  but  did  n't  sup 
pose  it  was  at  all  probable  that  her  prayers 
had  been  answered ;  Samuel  must  have  prayed 
for  himself,  though  she  had  not  heard  him. 

Tears  came  into  Rosalie's  eyes,  and  putting 
down  her  book,  she  kissed  Aunt  Sally's 
withered  cheek,  saying  she  would  never  know 
till  she  was  asked  to  sit  up  higher,  in  the 
better  world,  how  good  and  how  humble  she 
had  been. 

The  doctor  was  formal,  ostentatious,  and 
wise ;  and  Uncle  Peter  was  so  much  pre 
possessed  in  his  favor,  that  he  almost  regretted 
having  sent  for  the  surgeon.  He  inquired 
minutely  all  the  symptoms,  replying,  as  each 
was  unfolded,  "  Oh,  yes,  I  supposed  so !  precise 
ly  as  I  anticipated !"  and  the  like  ;  and  left 
half-a-dozen,  small  powders,  neatly  folded  in 
\vhite  paper,  with  a  phial  containing  some  li 
quid,  having  an  unpronounceable  name  ;  and 
10 


218       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

enjoining  the  strictest  observance  as  to  times 
and  small  quantities,  took  his  departure. 

"  What  did  lie  say  was  the  matter  with 
you  ?"  asked  Aunt  Sally. 

"  He  did  n't  say,"  replied  Uncle  Peter. 

"  What  did  he  think  of  your  pulse  ?" 

"  He  did  n't  feel  of  it." 

"  And  your  tongue  ?'' 

"  He  did  not  examine  my  tongue,  my  dear  ; 
hut  he  is  evidently  a  man  of  great  skill." 

Aunt  Sally  could  not  see  in  what  way  he 
had  manifested  his  skill ;  nevertheless,  she  had 
no  doubt  that  it  was  as  Mr.  Throckmorton 
asserted. 

One  thing  the  skillful  man  had  said  which 
greatly  amused  Uncle  Peter ;  he  had  reported 
to  his  patient  how  the  modest  and  really 
estimable  village  doctor  had  thrust  his  thumbs 
into  his  vest  pockets,  on  hearing  that  Mr. 
Throckmorton  was  ill,  and  that  the  great  Doc 
tor  Cutaway  had  been  sent  for,  and  observed 
that  the  patient  might  die  while  the  surgeon 
was  on  the  way  to  visit  him,  and  that  unless 
he  had  a  Iknb  to  be  amputated  the  movement 
was  a  very  unfortunate  one.  Mr.  Middleton 


MARK  i  ED,    NOT    MATED.       219 

had  not  added  an  expression  of  his  own  agree 
ment  with  his  brother  of  the  village. 

This  greatly  amused  Uncle  Peter.  There 
was  no  doubt  in  his  mind  but  that  the  little 
gentleman  would  like  to  be  his  physician. 

Aunt  Sally  looked  inquiringly,  to  ascertain 
in  what  way  it  was  funny ;  but  even  when  it 
was  explained  that  to  be  physician  to  Mr.  P. 
T.  Throckmorton  would  give  standing  to  the 
little  doctor,  and  probably  help  him  to  more 
money  than  he  had  had  for  months,  she  failed 
to  see  it  in  quite  the  "light  that  she  felt  she 
ought,  for  the  smile  seemed  a  painful  one,  and 
she  said  she  wished  everybody  had  all  the 
money  they  wanted. 

"Poh!  how  you  waste  sympathy!"  said 
Uncle  Samuel  Peter. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  was  the  meek  reply  of  my 
aunt  ;  and  there  followed  a  silence  which 
her  husband,  feeling  some  compunction,  per 
haps,  interrupted  by  saying,  "I  really  feel 
quite  revived  ;  dear  Mrs.  Throckmorton,  let 
me  prevail  upon  you  to  take  a  little  rest  — 
you  may  have  to  sit  up  with  me  all  night,  yon 
know." 


^20       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

He  could  not  even  seem,  to  be  generous,  lie 
was  so  selfish ;  if  he  asked  his  wife  to  take 
rest,  it  was  after  all  for  his  own  sake ;  but  she, 
dear  little  woman,  saw  it  not;  and,  exhausted 
by  so  much  care  and  toil,  she  needed  little 
entreaty,  and  was  soon  fast  asleep.  Her 
grateful  rest,  however,  was  broken  before  long 
by  the  tossings  and  worryings  of  her  husband. 
The  first  effects  of  medicines,  generally,  are 
not  very  pleasant,  and  the  frightened  patient 
fancied  the  natural  operation  of  the  drugs,  to 
be  an  augmentation  of  his  disease.  Dear  Mrs. 

O 

Throckmorton  awoke  as  Sally  Ann  again,  and 
her  anxieties  and  labors  were  renewed.  Mr. 
Middleton's  doctor  was  denounced';  not  another 
of  his  prescriptions  wrould  the  sick  man  swal 
low  ;  he  believed  himself  poisoned  already  ; 
he  urged  Sally  Ann  to  bring  whatever  anti 
dotes  she  had  ever  heard  of,  and  with  excite 
ment  and  counteracting  medicines,  the  symp 
toms,  in  the  course  of  the  day,  took  a  more 
serious  turn.  I  was  very  much  troubled  at 
this  turn  of  the  matter.  I  was  afraid  of  death, 
and  it  seemed  to  me  that  Uncle  Peter  could 
not  live  long.  I  tried  to  make  myself  useful ; 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       221 

but  by  some  strange  fatality  I  did  wrong 
whatever  I  did  at  all,  and  when  I  would  have 
made  amends,  with  tears,  they  were  an  offence 
also. 

Meantime  Rosalie  glided  along  smoothly 
and  happily,  most  of  the  time  discreetly 
absenting  herself  from  the  sick-room.  The 
smell  of  the  medicine  affected  her  unpleasantly, 
she  said  to  Uncle  Samuel  Peter.  Now  she 
was  reading,  in  the  shade  of  some  tree,  smiling 
to  herself;  and  now  going  through  the  garden 
walks,  pulling  flowers  to  pieces,  or  mocking 
the  birds  with  her  own  songs.  Once,  when 
the  gardener  asked  her  how  her  uncle  was, 
she  replied,  that  his  malady  consisted  chiefly 
in  groans,  and  that,  consequently,  his  friends 
suffered  more  from  it  than  himself;  and  joined 
on  her  song  where  she  had  broken  it  off.  The 
gardener  said  she  was  like  sunshine  on  the 
path,  and  he  liked  better  to  have  her  in  the 
garden,  than  all  the  birds.  When  I  went 
there,  he  said  my  red  eyes  would  frighten  the 
owls,  and  inquired  if  I  had  seen  my  mother's 
ghost,  and  so  I  returned  to  my  thankless  watch, 
again. 

It  was  sunset  when  the  great  surgeon  came. 


222       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

lie  had  the  air  of  one  who  drew  at  least  the 
third  part  of  heaven's  host  after  him.  Mr. 
Throckmorton's  was  only  one  of  a  thousand 
important  cases  ;  it  could  not.  of  course,  be 
expected  that  he  should  give  much  of  his 
personal  attention  ;  he  had  snatched  a  moment, 
as  it  were,  and  had  probably  risked  the  lives 
of  a  dozen  patients,  to  make  the  visit.  He 
would  not  flatter  his  patient  by  any  hopes  of 
immediate  recovery  ;  the  case  was  critical,  and 
would  require  most  skillful  treatment.  He 
saw  presented  not  only  a  dangerous  form  of 
disease,  but  also  the  action  of  most  deleterious 
nostrums.  lie  could  not,  in  fact,  warrant  a 
cure  at  all;  and,  at  best,  the  patient  must 
expect  a  long  and  severe  illness.  He  could 
not  possibly  remain  above  an  hour.  He 
recommended  and  executed  blood-letting  and 
blistering ;  and,  having  prepared  medicines 
for  a  week,  on  the  supposition  that  eacli  one 
would  act  thus  and  so,  and  laid  down  direc 
tions  about  drops  and  half-drops,  hours  and 
half  hours,  the  distinguished  Doctor  Cutaway 
left  the  room,  with  an  ostentatious  sweep,  and 
departed. 

The   pretentious   airs   and    the    unmeaning 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       223 

magniloquence  of  the  city  celebrity  were 
calculated  to  inspire  confidence  on  the  part 
of  his  patient ;  but  to  Rosalie  they  were  only 
amusing,  and  I  could  not  help  a  little  sym 
pathy  in  her  skepticism,  respecting  both 
Uncle  Peter's  danger,  and  Doctor  Cutaway's 
abilities. 

Of  course  the  patient  found  no  immediate 
relief;  he  suffered,  as  the  doctor  predicted; 
but  after  a  thousand  groans,  and  as  many  calls 
upon  Sally  Ann,  under  the  influence  of  a 
powerful  narcotic,  fell  into  a  partial  slumber. 
Rosalie  sat  fast  asleep  in  an  easy-chair ;  I 
looked  for  the  first  faint  streaks  of  day ;  and 
Aunt  Sally  walked  up  and  down  the  room, 
wringing  her  hands. 

Doctor  Cutaway,  as  I  said,  possessed  some 
skill  in  surgery,  but  was  not  otherwise  eminent, 
and  though  his  reputation  served  him  for  a 
wide  medical  practice,  it  is  probable  that  our 
village  doctor,  so  despised  by  Uncle  Peter, 
was  really  his  superior  in  knowledge  of 
materia  medica.  However,  it  was  not  so 
believed,  and  when  the  famous  personage 
was  summoned,  the  case  was  supposed  to  bo 


224:       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

perilous  in  the  extreme ;  therefore,  it  no 
sooner  became  known  that  he  had  actually 
visited  Mr.  Samuel  P.  I.  T.  Throckmorton. 
than  that  person  was  declared  by  all  the 
gossips  to  be  nigh  the  gates  of  death,  and  one 
and  all  of'  his  neighbors  came  to  see  him,  and 
each  one  knew  of  some  certain,  speedy  and  safe 
cure  for  his  disease,  if  he  would  only  take  it. 

For  a  day,  Doctor  Cutaway's  prescriptions 
were  adhered  to ;  then  the  patient  began  to 
waver,  and  on  the  second  morning  his  faith 
was  quite  gone.  He  was  "  sinking  every 
moment,"  he  said,  which  was  quite  true. 

Uncle  Peter  began  to  feel  that  everybody 
was  his  friend  again,  and  even  when  Mrs. 
Rachel  Muggins  was  announced,  he  smiled, 
and  answered  —  "  Let  the  woman  come  up, 
bless  her ;  it  is  kind  of  her,  I  am  sure,  to  come 
and  see  me." 

"  Mercy  sakes,  old  man !"  was  her  first  ex 
clamation,  "be  you  lying  here  on  your  back? 
now  who  would  have  thought  it,  you  that 
have  never  had  a  sick  bone  in  your  body  ?" 

She  had  left  the  baby  at  home  asleep,  and 
just  run  across  the  fields  for  a  minute,  she 


M  A  K  E  I  E  D  ,      NOT     MATED.          225 

said,  not  having  taken  time  to  slick  up  her 
head ;  and  to  tell  the  truth  she  had  not  done 
so  for  a  week  —  her  declaration  no  one  who 
saw  the  frizzled  disorder  beneath  her  night 
cap,  could  doubt.  Making  no  further  apology, 
she  threw  aside  her  neckerchief  and  cap,  and 
proceeded  to  make  some  personal  renovations, 
such  as  washing  her  face  and  hands  in  my 
Uncle  Peter's  convenient  bowl,  and  cleaning 
her  nails  with  a  darning  needle,  which  she  took 
from  one  of  her  sleeves.  After  this  she  shook 
loose  her  tresses,  and  having  asked  Aunt  Sally 
for  a  comb,  seated  herself  by  the  bed,  and 
began  vigorously  to  work,  talking  all  the 
time.  She  had  with  her  the  hopeful  darling 
who  made  the  fourth  of  a  donkey's  load,  when 
we  first  saw  her,  and  as  she  talked  and  combed 
her  hair,  he  stood  pulling  at  her  dress,  and 
teasing  her.  "Rache,  gim  me  some,"  he  said  ; 
"I'll  bite  you,  if  you  don't  —  gim  me  some,  I 
say  —  Fmhungerry!  lam.  I'll  tell  pap,  if 
you  don't  gim  me  some."  He  wTore  stout 
boots  and  kicked  at  his  mother  by  way  of 
enforcing  each  appeal. 

"  Andrew    Jackson     Muggins !"     she    ex 
10* 


226          MARRIED,      NOT      MATED. 

claimed,  when  at  last  he  succeeded  in  gain 
ing  her  attention,  "  Mother  will  whip  yon  till 
yon  hain't  hide  nor  skin  of  yon  left,  if  yon 
do  n't  behave  yourself.  Now  go  and  sit  down, 
and  be  pretty." 

"  Shan't !"  replied  Andrew. 

"  Well,  then,  you  know  what  yon  will  get 
Just  as  soon  as  I  go  home  I'll  give  yon 
Jessie." 

The  boy  now  cried  lustily,  kicking  his 
mother,  and  entreating  her,  by  the  endearing 
name  of  Rache,  to  give  him  "  some." 

u  Boo,  hoo,  woo !"  exclaimed  Rachael. 
"  What  a  torment  you  are  !  I  declare,  a  body 
who  has  young-ones,  has  no  peace  of  her  life.- 
She's  just  between  hawk  and  buzzard,  as  a 
body  may  say ;"  and,  turning  to  Andrew  Jack 
son,  she  said,  "  Shu  !  I  '11  sew  up  your  mouth." 
But  such  threats  inspired  him  with  no  whole 
some  awe,  and  his  cries  grew  turbulent. 

"  Bless  my  life,  I  can't  make  the  child  mind ! 
He  has  got  a  will  that  can 't  be  broke,"  said 
Mrs.  Muggins. 

"  Ding  you,  I  knowed  you  could  n't  make 
me  mind,"  replied  the  boy,  and,  laughing 


M  A  R  R  i  E  i) ,    NOT    MATED.       227 

at  his  precocious  humour,  the  mother  now 
tried  the  effect  of  coaxing. 

"  Now  be  a  good  boy,  and  mother  will  give 
him  a  lump  of  sugar.  See,  he  will  scare  all 
the  folks  to  death,  and  if  he  opens  his  mouth 
so  wide,  a  cat  will  jump  into  it,  and  then  his 
mother  will  have  no  little  boy." 

He  did  not  seem  affected  by  this  pathetic 
appeal,  but  replied  that  he  wished  a  cat  had 
jumped  into  her  mouth  before  she  came  to  Old 
Throckrnorton's. 

"  Did  you  ever !"  exclaimed  the  mother, 
laughing  behind  her  hand,  in  a  peculiar  way ; 
"  I  tell  you  noAV,  he  is  one  of  'em." 

"  I  am  that,"  replied  the  son,  and  he  forth 
with  commenced  biting  at  the  arms  of  his  ap 
preciative  parent,  by  way  of  bringing  her  to 
terms. 

u  What  under  the  sun  can  I  do  to  make  you 
afraid  of  me  ?"  she  said. 

"  Noffen,"  replied  Jackson.  "  I  ain't  afeard 
of  you,  and  sixteen  more  just  like  you.  So 
give  me  some." 

"  Hark !  hark  !  I  hear  something,"  inter 
posed  the  mother,  speaking  almost  under  her 
breath ;  and  having  by  this  device  gained  the 


228        MAKKIED,    NOT    MATED. 

attention  of  the  child,  she  proceeded  to  inform 
him  that  a  black  nigger  man  lived  in  Mr. 
Throckmorton's  chimney,  and  that  his  eyes 
were  as  big  as  a  bushel,  and  liis  mouth  as  big 
as  a  wash  tub,  and  that  he  ate  up  bad  boys. 
u  Now,  then,  if  you  don't  lie  right  down  and 
go  to  sleep,  I  '11  call  him.  Come,  big  nigger 
man  !  Come  and  eat  Jackson  up." 

Jackson  looked  askance  at  the  fireplace,  and 
seeing  nothing  of  the  swarthy  enemy,  replied, 
"  You  are  smart,  ain't  you,  Rache  ?  You  can 't 
scare  me,  though,  ding  you  !" 

"  "Will  he  have  some  cake  or  honey  ?"  asked 
Aunt  Sally  ;  "  or  is  it  nothing  I  can  give  him 
he  wants  ?" 

"Why,  the  truth  is,"  said  Mrs.  Muggins, 
who  had  been  anxiously  expecting  some  such 
demonstration  on  the  part  of  my  aunt,  "  the 
boy  has  got  a  considerable  appetite  from  the 
long  walk  we  've  had  this  morning,  to  say 
nothing  of  his  having  had  rather  slim  fodder 
for  a  day  or  two,  and  he  would  like  a  little 
of  your  nice  things,  and  I  ara  dreadfully 
afraid  he  will  be  obstreperous  till  he  gets 
some." 

"  That 's   the  how,  Raehe ;   you  may  look 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       229 

arter  yourself  now;  I  guess  I'm  did  for," 
Andrew  Jackson  Muggins  intimated,  in  a  half 
aside  but  not  at  all  inaudible  speech  to  his 
diplomatic  mother,  as  he  heard  my  aunt  give 
directions  to  Jane  to  supply  his  alimentary 
necessities. 

Thus  much  accomplished,  and  Mr.  Graham's 
ancient  housekeeper  having  at  length  complet 
ed  her  toilet  and  seated  herself  in  order  for 
duty  beside  my  Uncle  Peter's  bed,  she  proceed 
ed  with  the  kindly  purpose  which  "  brought 
her  out  so  early  in  the  morning." 

"  I  suppose  it 's  none  of  my  business,"  she 
said,  "  but  I  'm  such  a  fool  I  can  't  help  saying 
what  I  think,  and  I  know  a-most  if  you  would 
send  for  my  Indian  doctor  he  would  cure  you ; 
he  has  been  with  me  in  all  my  bad  times,  and 
he  is  just  as  nice  and  modest-spoken  a  man  as 
you  would  wish  to  see.  I  '11  say  that  for  him. 
The  way  I  heard  of  him  was  this :  I  was 
over  to  granmarn's  one  day  a  long  spell  after  I 
was  married ;  there  was  a  full  moon  I  know, 
and  I  went  over  at  night ;  I  expected  him  to 
come  after  me,  but  he  didn't  come  and  I  went 
home  alone.  That 's  the  way  with  your  married 


230      MARKIED,    NOT    MATED. 

i 

men,  they  have  n't  half  as  much  gallantry  as 
they  had  when  they  were  bachelors."  Here  she 
glanced  significantly  at  Rose.  "  "Well,  I  was 
complaining  of  a  pain  in  im  !ot,  it  appeared 
like  as  I  had  sprainted  it,  and  granmam  says 
she,  <  why  do  n't  you  send  or  the  Indian  doc 
tor  ?'  '  What  Indian  docto.  ?'  says  I.  <  Why, 
Doctor  Snakeroot,'  says  she.  c  "What  a  funny 
name !'  says  I,  '  it  fairly  makes  a  body  crawl !' 
1  Yes,'  says  she,  '  it  is  funny,  but  not  so  funny 
as  a  name  I  heard  of  when  I  was  a  girl.  One 
of  my  young  acquaintances  had  a  beau,  and  his 
name  was  Fish;  so  she  thought,  and  so  every 
body  thought;  and  just  a  week  before  they 
were  to  be  married,  he  guessed  he  would  not 
be  prospered  if  he  got  married  with  a  lie  on  his 
mind,  and  so  he  told  her  his  name  was  Craw 
fish  !'  And  granmam  said  the  girl  said  she 
reckoned  she'd  be  a-backing  out,  for  if  she 
didn't,  he  would — 'being  he  was  likely  to  be 
by  nature  what  he  was  by  name. 

"  It  might  seem  curious  to  some  that  gran 
mam  should  recommend  Doctor  Snakeroot  to 
me,  instead  of  her  own  son,  but  them  that's 
been  in  a  house  as  long  as  I  was  at  "Woodside, 


M  A  B  B  I  E  D  ,      NOT     MATED.          231 

know  tilings  that  them  do  n't  know  that  hain't 
been  in  a  house  so  farmilurly ;  and,  I  tell  you 
now,  a  body  finds  out  things  that  a  body 
would  n't  think  eT  ^  being  intimately  into  the 
house  of  some  that  ai«e  called  first  cut. 

"I've  seen  strairro  things,  in  my  time. 
Have  you  seen  Staff  timiham,  girls  ?  or  Doctor 
Graham,  as  he  pretends  to  call  himself,"  she 
asked,  abruptly  ;  and,  on  our  reply  that  we  had 
not,  she  said  she  would  just  warn  us  not  to  fall 
in  love  with  him,  for  though  he  was  mighty 
good  looking,  and  had  a  smile  that  was  like  an 
angel's,  he  was  as  proud  as  old  Nick,  and  she 
had  seen  a  good  many  fine  ladies  try  to  catch 
him,  who  couldn't  come  it,  and  she  thought 
there  would  be  a  slender  chance  for  the  like 
of  us. 

Rosalie  replied  by  a  disdainful  smile,  which 
made  Mrs.  Muggins  look  a  little  mean,  and  she 
went  on  to  say,  "  I  am  such  a  big  fool  I  allers 
say  jist  what  I  think:  thar." 

"  My  good  friend,  what  about  the  Indian 
doctor  ?"  interrupted  Uncle  Peter. 

"  Why,"  said  Rachel,  "  he  cured  Jane  Hill 
when  all  the  doctors  had  given  her  up,  and,  in 


232      '    M  A  K  K  I  E  D  ,      NOT     MATED. 

fact,  she  had  no  hopes  of  herself,  as  you  may 
say ;  she  sent  for  a  preacher  and  made  her 
peace,  and  after  that,  she  heard  of  Snakeroot, 
some  way  or  other — I  don't  know  how  it  was 
—  and  she  sent  right  off  for  him  —  her  brother 
rode  all  night  a-most ;  and  when  he  got  there 
the  very  first  wrord  was,  i  While  there  is  life 
there  is  hope,'  and  they  said  he  set  right  to 
work  like  as  if  he  was  in  earnest.  He  said  a 
good  deal  ailed  her,  but  he  could  cure  her ;  he 
bound  both  her  feet  up  in  rattlesnake's  grease, 
and  cut  a  live  fowl  in  two,  and  clapped  it 
right  on  to  her  stomach  ;  then  he  gave  her  some 
bitters,  made  of  iron  rust  and  peach  brandy,  and 
sheep's  milk,  and  it  was  not  an  hour  from  the 
time  she  took  the  first  spoonful  till  she  walked 
from  the  bed  to  the  fire.  Oh,  they  say  she  was 
just  as  white  as  a  corpse.  They  say  she  took  her 
medicine  out  of  a  cup  that  was  made  of  a  bear's 
ear ;  I  do  n't  know  whether  he  would  give  it 
to  you  that  way — likely  what  is  good  for  some 
ain't  good  for  others.  Now,  when  I  have  my 
bad  times,  he  always  tells  me  to  eat  rabbit's 
meat ;  he  mostly  traps  them  when  he  is  out 
chopping.  Jane  wears  the  skin  of  a  black 


M  A  K  R  i  E  D  ,    NOT    MATED.       233 

snake  round  her  left  ankle  —  she  wears  it  under 
her  stocking  —  no  body  sees  it;  it's  a  charm, 
Dr.  Snakeroot  says.  I  've  heard  them  say  he 
made  some  eat  boiled  bats,  but  I  can't  believe 
that,  no  body  could  eat  one,  I  do  n't  believe." 

Uncle  Peter  was  sure  that  good  Mrs.  Mug 
gins  had  been  sent  to  him  by  some  interven 
tion  of  Providence.  -'Oh,  Sally  Ann,  don't 
yon  think  so  ?"  he  asked,  again  and  again,  arid 
as  Aunt  Sally  could  not,  by  any  possibility, 
have  thought  anything  else,  Westley  was  sent, 
post-haste,  the  distance  of  twelve  miles,  and 
in  due  time  returned,  accompanied  by  Dr. 
Snakeroot,  with  a  variety  of  dried  roots,  snake 
skins,  herbs,  bears'  ears,  &c.  Simples  were 
soon  simmering  in  sheep's  milk  and  the  blood 
of  a  pullet ;  charms  were  uttered  ;  and  the 
miraculous  course  of  treatment  began.  But 
Doctor  Snakeroot  met  with  no  such  success  as 
he  was  reputed  to  have  had  in  the  case  of  Jane 
Hill ;  on  the  contrary,  the  patient  grew  worse 
and  worse. 

"  You  are  killing  yourself,"  said  Mr.  Clark 
Boots,  a  young  gentleman  who  superintended 
a  boys'  school  in  the  neighborhood,  delivered 


'234:      MAKKIED,    NOT    MATED 

temperance  lectures,  and  got  up  moral  reform 
societies  amongst  the  ladies.  "Just  let  me 
take  you  in  hand,"  he  said,  "  and  you  will  be 
a  well  man  in  the  course  of  a  few  days ;  see 
here,  sir,  can  you  do  this?"  and  he  exhibited 
a  variety  of  feats  of  strength,  with  chairs, 
tables,  and  the  like. 

Uncle  Peter,  now  too  ill  to  offer  much 
opposition,  said  he  was  "willing  to  try  any 
thing" —  some  young  men  might  be  wiser, 
for  aught  he  knew,  than  some  old  ones.  One 
thing  was  sure,  he  could  not  live  long  in  the 
state  in  which  he  was;  Sally  Ann  and  his 
dear  ward,  and  everybody  who  had  seen  him, 
knew  that ;  and,  thus  encouraged,  Mr.  Clark 
Boots  commenced  operations.  Poor  Uncle 
Peter  was  completely  soused  in  w^et  sheets, 
and  required  to  drink  ice-water  by  the  quart. 
"  So  soon  as  you  are  able  to  rise,"  said  Mr. 
Clark  Boots,  "  you  must  begin  a  series  of 
gymnastic  exercises.  First,  jump  over  a  chair, 
then  over  two  chairs  —  first  backward  and 
then  forward' — -till  you  are  master  of  the 
chair  exercise;  then  jump  over  the  table 
then  place  some  small  obstacle  on  the  table  — 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       235 

say  your  hat  —  and  jump  over  the  two;  and 
so  keep  up  brisk  action  till  all  the  muscles 
are  brought  into  play,  and  a  healthful  perspira 
tion  induced.  I  will  myself  superintend  your 
gymnastic  discipline,"  said  Mr.  Clark  Boots, 
who  seemed  to  feel,  and  I  believe  really  felt, 
benevolent. 

The  ice  water  and  the  wet  sheet  soon  affected 
Uncle  Peter  very  sensibly ;  and  with  an 
anguish  in  his  voice  which  I  cannot  describe 
he  began  to  call  out,  ;'  Oh,  Sally  Ann,  is  the 
house  shaking  down  ?  I  am  going  all  to  pieces  ! 
Put  forty  blankets  over  me  ;  I  can 't  live  this 
way  !  Oh,  Sally  Ann  !  oh,  Sally,  Sally  Ann  | 
is  not  there  an  earthquake?  Look  out,  and 
see  if  the  earth  is  not  gaping  to  swallow  us  up  ? 
I  never  felt  a  house  shake  like  this.  I  should 
think  there  were  a  thousand  elephants  working 
like  moles  under  its  foundations.  Oh,  for  hot 
bricks !  Oh,  for  the  comfort  of  a  great  big 
fire !  Sally  Ann,  why  do  n't  you  keep  me 
from  shaking  ?  Have  you  any  of  the  feelings 
of  a  woman  and  a  wife  ?" 

"Don't  be  alarmed,  my  dear  friend,"  said 
Mr.  Boots,  "  the  remedies  are  having  precisely 


236       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

the  effect  I  foresaw ;  yon  must  not  be  alarmed, 
but  assist  nature  a  little,  by  sucli  exercises  as 
I  have  described." 

Uncle  Peter  was  partially  dressed,  and 
assisted  out  of  bed ;  but  to  make  a  picture  of 
him  as  he  appeared  jumping  over  a  chair, 
defies  my  power.  He  had  little  strength,  and 
no  courage  to  use  that  which  he  had.  Even 
Rosalie,  who  could  not  help  seeing  how 
ludicrous  was  his  appearance,  began  to  feel 
a  sincere  pity  for  him. 

He  was  making  this  exhibition  as  well  as 
example  of  himself,  when,  to  his  relief,  a  new 
visitor  arrived,  Mr.  Tompkins. 

"  Tut,  tut !"  he  exclaimed,  resting  his  hands 
on  his  hips,  Ci  if  you  want  to  drown,  you  had 
best  get  into  the  cistern,  and  if  you  require 
exercise,  you  had  better  put  on  your  coat,  and 
chop  awhile.  Come,  Mrs.  Throckmorton,  let 's 
get  him  in  bed  before  he  faints  ;"  and,  turning 
to  Mr.  Clark  Boots,  he  said,  authoritatively, 
"Young  man,  if  you  want  anybody  to  jump, 
you  might  as  well  jump  yourself  out  of  the 
house !" 

The  medical  reformer,  who  was  so  nearly 


MAKEIED,    NOT    MATED.       237 

"  up  to  the  time,"  in  science  as  well  as  in  the 
regulation  of  society,  speedily  followed  this 
advice,  and  Mr.  Tompkins  was  left  master  of 
the  field.  "Now,  the  first  thing  is  to  warm 
him,"  he  said.  Rosalie,  was  sent  to  prepare  a 
composition  tea ;  I  was  directed  to  hold  the 
patient's  mouth,  to  keep  it  from  chattering; 
and  Aunt  Sally  to  bring  a  bundle  of  blankets ; 
while  Mr.  Tompkins  himself  procured  a  kettle, 
with  a  cover  and  spout,  and  set  it  boiling,  at 
the  same  time  introducing  the  steam,  by  a 
piece  of  hose  attached  to  the  spout,  into  the 
bed.  Before  long  the  patient  began  to  groan 
as  heartily  with  the  heat  as  he  had  before  done 
with  the  cold,  and  his  wife -was  entreated  to 
administer  something  —  anything  for  his  relief. 
"  Never  do  you  mind,  my  good  woman,  but 
keep  the  kettle  steaming  for  an  hour,"  said 
Mr.  Tompkins ;  "  we  must  use  our  own  judg 
ments  ;  he  do  n't  know  what  is  best."  A 
feeble  groan  was  the  only  reply.  "  Arid  that 
is  not  all,"  added  Mr.  Tompkins,  "you  must 
pour  down  this  composition,  hot  and  strong  — 
no  matter  whether  he  dislikes  it  or  not — just 
hold  his  mouth  open,  and  pour  it  down." 


238       MAKKIED,    NOT    MATED. 

"  Oh,  Sally  Ann  !  my  beloved  spouse  1  I 
entreat  of  you,  as  it  were  my  last  win  and 
testimony,  to  have  some  mercy  upon  me,  and 
as  you  would  be  dealt  by,  deal  by  me !" 

There  was  no  resisting  this  appeal,  and  with 
tears  in  her  eyes,  Aunt  Sally  threw  aside  six 
of  the  blankets,  and  removed  the  steam-pipe. 

Mr.  Tompkins  was  indignant :  "  When  a 
wife  would  allow  her  feelings  to  master  her 
judgment,"  he  said,  "it  was  needless  for  him 
to  remain.  The  treatment  he  had  proposed 
should  have  been  vigorously  applied  for  two 
hours,  and  after  a  cessation  of  five  minutes, 
renewed  again,  and  so  continued  through  the 
night."  And  having  said  this,  Mr.  Tompkins 
bade  us  good  evening. 

"Sally  Ann  !"  the  call  was  very  faint,  "send 
Westley  for  Mrs.  Perrin  ;  I  am  afraid  she  was 
offended ;  I  never  meant  to  hurt  the  feelings 
of  anybody  in  my  life ;  I  have  always  wanted 
to  make  everybody  happy  about  me ;  but  I 
wish,  Sally,  I  had  done  more  good ;  tell 
Westley  to  go  at  once,  and  to  take  the  carriage 
• — I  am  sure  Mrs.  Perrin  has  a  right  to  ride  in 
a  carriage  —  she  is  old  enough,  and  has  worked 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       239 

hard  enough."  And  Uncle  Peter,  under  the 
reviving  influence  of  a  great  fan,  indulged  in 
a  train  of  humanizing  reflections.  Whi]e  so 

O 

engaged,  a  carriage  was  heard  at  the  gate,  and 
an  old  lady  was  seen  to  descend  and  make 
her  way  to  the  main  entrance. 

"  Those  who  come  in  coaches  are  no  bettei 
than  those  who  walk,''  said  Uncle  Peter ; 
"  Sally,  you  have  always  been  too  proud ;  I 
want  you  now  to  be  particular,  and  pay  more 
attention  to  the  poor  friends  who  come  to 
visit  us  than  to  the  rich  ones;  it  was  never  my 
disposition  to  seem  more  than  I  was,  and  we 
are  all  sparrows  of  a  day,  as  it  were ;  but, 
Sally,  Ann !  you,  who  have  always  been  well 
and  strong,  couldn't  see  with  my  humble 
eyes.  I  do  n't  blame  you  ;  no,  Sally  !  I  do  n't 
blame  anybody  in  the  world  for  anything." 

Here  the  old  lady  came  into  the  room;  she 
presented  a  strange  blending  of  refinement 
and  vulgarity,  both  in  dress  and  manner : 
some  articles  of  her  apparel  being  of  extreme 
elegance,  and  in  good  taste,  while  others  were 
so  old,  tawdry,  and  unclean,  as  to  be  positively 
offensive.  Her  old,  rich  lace,  adorned  a  cap 


24:0       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED 

of  greasy  stuff,  and  her  exquisitely  wrought 
handkerchief  was  tied  at  one  corner  to  a 
ragged  bandana;  her  silken  hose  hung  in 
wrinkles,  and  her  old  unpolished  shoes  were 
stringless  and  down  at  the  heels ;  her  bonnet 
had  been  expensive  and  beautiful  in  its  day, 
but  that  day  had  been  years  gone ;  her  shawl, 
of  camel's  hair,  was  in  excellent  preservation, 
as  was  also  her  dress,  of  velvet,  trailing  for  a 
yard  behind  her,  except,  indeed,  for  the 
gathered  dust  which  doubled  its  weight. 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Throckmorton,  it  pains  me 
tx3  see  you  so  ill !"  she  began,  "  but  I  hope 
you  do  not  suffer  intensely." 

"  Why,  yes,  Mrs.  Graham,  God  bless  you !" 
said  Uncle  Peter,  "  I  do  suffer  as  much  as  a 
man  can,  and  live ;  I  'in  glad  you  thought 
enough  of  me  to  come  and  see  me ;  how  are 
your  two  worthy  sons,  Henry  and  Stafford  ?" 

Mrs.  Graham  seated  herself  by  the  bedside, 
and  professing  herself  an  excellent  nurse,  pro 
posed  to  Aunt  Sally  to  remain  with  us  all 
night. 

The  sending  for  Mrs.  Perrin  was  accordingly 
postponed. 


MAKRIED,    NOT    MATED.       241 

"  And  these  little  darlings  are  your  pretty 
wardies,  are  they  ?"  she  asked ;  and  when 
informed  that  we  were,  she  shook  hands  with 
us,  and  talked  a  good  deal  about  the  unity 
and  love  with  which  her  family  at  "Woodside 
lived  together  ;  "  we  must  come  and  visit  her 
and  her  sweet  daughter-in-law,  Annette  ;  and 
Hally  —  her  dear  son  —  would  give  us  as  many 
flowers  as  we  could  carry  home,  and  Stafford 
would  show  us  his  specimens  and  skeletons, 
and  amuse  us  all  he  could,  poor  boy." 

When  it  was  nine  o'clock  she  began  to 
exhibit  tokens  of  drowsiness;  still  she  insisted 
that  she  was  an  excellent  watcher  with  the 
sick,  for  that  she  had  not  been  in  the  way  of 
sleeping  more  than  two  hours  out  of  the 
twenty-four  for  the  last  twenty  years.  She 
would  watch  alone,  she  said,  at  first,  but 
finally  she  concluded  it  would  be  solitary, 
and  for  the  sake  of  company  she  would  keep 
the  bright-eyed  little  darling,  meaning  Rosalie, 
with  her.  I  remained  for  Eose's  sake  ;  and- 
Aunt  Sully,  after  a  great  deal  of  persuasion, 
consented  to  lie  down  for  an  hour  or  two,  in 
the  adjoining  room. 

11 


242       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

"You  look  more  ill  now  than  your  hus 
band,"  said  Mrs.  Graham,  "and  I  should 
not  wonder  if  lie  outlived  you  by  many 
years." 

Aunt  Sally  smiled,  as  though  it  was  to  "be 
hoped  he  would,  and  replied  that  it  was 
strange  some  persons  could  be  so  well  and 
strong,  and  yet  look  pale  and  ill,  as  she  did, 
while  others  could  be  so  very  sick,  her  hus 
band,  for  instance,  and  not  show  it  at  all. 

"  It 's  a  mystery  !  a  wonderful  mystery !" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Graham,  and  she  closed  her 
eyes,  apparently  to  contemplate  it. 

Uncle  Peter  felt  easier,  he  said,  and  no 
doubt  he  did,  having  the  weight  of  twenty 
blankets  removed ;  and  Aunt  Sally,  kissing 
his  hand — she  dared  not  kiss  his  cheek,  I  sup 
pose —  and  bathing  his  face  with  her  tears, 
retired  for  a  little  repose 

We  might  make  temporary  beds,  so  as  to 
be  within  call,  Mrs.  Graham  said,  and  she 
would  watch  till  midnight,  and  then  take  her 
turn  of  sleep ;  but  she  did  not  unclose  her 
eyes,  as  she  said  so,  'and  otherwise  exhibited 
such  unmistakable  fondness  for  the  drowsy 


MAEKIED,    NOT    MATED.       243 

god,  that  we  thought  it  advisable  to  remain 
awake. 

"  Yes,  my  children,"  said  Uncle  Peter, 
"  make  extemporaneous  beds,  and  try  to  get  a 
little  rest;"  but  not  one  moment  did  he  give 
us,  wherein  to  try  the  promises  of  sleep  ;  there 
was  a  constant  calling  and  groaning ;  never 
theless,  it  disturbed  not  the  enjoyment  of 
Mrs.  Graham,  who  snored  so  loud  as  almost 
to  drown  the  sound  of  the  sick  man's  com 
plaining,  sometimes.  Hour  after  hour  lay 
the  old  lady  on  the  sofa,  at  full  length,  in  that 
forgetfulness  of  life  which  seemed  to  me,  at 
the  time,  to  be  the  best  gift  of  an  indulgent 
deity.  To  youth,  especially,  sleep  is  grateful, 
and  unaccustomed  to  watching,  and  with  no 
love,  roused  by  fear,  to  aid  us,  I  could  not 
help  but  think  the  long  hours  would  never 
be  concluded.  Rose  was  more  self-sufficient, 
and  managed  to  laugh  now  and  then,  even  at 
her  miseries. 

"  Oh,  my  good  ward,"  called  Uncle  Peter 
every  few  minutes,  "  do  go  and  call  up  your 
aunt ;  I  want  to  take  my  leave  of  her  now, 
while  I  am  sensible ;  I  do  n't  know  how 


244  M  A  R  K  I  E  D  ,      NO  T      M  A  T  E  D 

my  reason  ma}7  be  spared.  Oh,  mercy !  oh 
dear!" 

And  Rose  would  glide  out  of  the  room,  and 
remain  till  Uncle  Peter  had  fallen  asleep 
again,  or  in  some  new  want  quite  forg'ot  his 
taking  leave  of  Aunt  Sally. 

I  thought  of  our  own  homely  room  where 
we  had  slept  sweetly  so  many  nights ;  of  the 
fresh  nice  smelling  straw  of  which  our  bed 
was  made ;  of  the  coverlet,  bleached  white 
on  the  clover  ;  and  the  birds  twittering  now 
and  then  in  the  cherry  trees,  which  grew  close 
to  the  open  windows,  playing  musically  with 
their  slender  fingers  against  the  panes  on 
breezy  nights  ;  of  the  floor,  scoured  white, 
and  the  crickets  that  sang  in  the  warm  jamb 
all  the  while  till  the  breaking  of  day.  This 
seemed  to  me  then  to  have  been  heaven 
enough  ;  and  with  my  larger  experience  and, 
I  hope,  increased  wisdom,  it  seems  so  now. 
If  I  have  more  knowledge,  1  had  then  more 
innocence  ;  if  I  have  more  faith  in  myself 
now,  I  have  less  in  others  ;  if  I  have  more 
ability  to  do,  I  have  less  confidence  in  the 
results  of  doing;  if  I  have  more  to  enjoy,  J 


M  A  u  u  i  ]•:  i ) ,    x  o  T    MATED.         24:5 

have  less  capacity  for  enjoyment;  if  I  can 
better  guard  myself,  they  who  were  better 
guardians  than  I  are  gone  ;  and  the  lo\r 
homely  chamber,  with  green  rustling  curtains 
of  leaves,  will  be  to  me  a  never-ending  regret. 
How  equally,  after  all,  the  balance  hangs,  and 
how  frequently  may  he  whom  we  pause  to 
pity  have  better  reason  to  pity  us. 

The  memory  of  that  long  watching  brings 
with  it  something  of  the  misery  I  then  endur 
ed.  Midnight  would  never  come,  I  said. 
Rose  kept  the  candles  bright,  and,  Uncle 
Peter  asleep,  for  the  most  part,  after  the  first 
hour  or  two.  She  tried  hard  to  keep  me 
awake,  with  stories,  which  she  had  great  facility 
in  inventing ;  tried  to  make  me  laugh  at  the 
train  of  Mother  Graham,  as  she  called  her :  for 
the  cat  had  nestled  upon  it,  and  indicated  her 
comfort  no\v  and  then  by  purring.  At  last 
the  clock  struck  twelve.  J^ow,  thought  I, 
Rose  will  call  Mrs.  Graham ;  but,  no — she 
said  she  would  wait  till  one — 'though  1  had 
better  seek  my  pillow  immediately.  This  I 
refused  to  do,  and  with  my  heavy  head  drop 
ping,  now  one  way,  and  now  another,  contriv- 


246  M  A  11  K  I  K  I)  ,      N  U  T     M  A  T  E  D  . 

ed  to  live  through  anotlier  hour.  Hose,  at 
length,  yielded  to  my  pleading  look,  rather 
than  to  her  own  inclination,  I  think,  and 
awoke  our  uncle's  benevolent  neighbor. 

The  old  woman  opened  her  eyes,  after  much 
ado,  and  sitting  upright  for  a  moment  said  ; 
"  My  little  dears,  I  was  just  about  to  call  you, 
and  you  have  awakened  yourselves — bless  you 
dears;  well,  I  am  glad  of  it  for  I  am  almost 
worn  out — not  used  to  tending  the  sick,  you 
know.  I  waited  t^Jl  one  o'clock,  and  now,  my 
pretty  birds,  you  must  try  and  keep  your  eyes 
open  till  daylight — it  will  not  be  long — and  I 
will  just  lie  down  here  and  see  if  I  can  't  get  a 
little  rest !"  So  saying,  she  wrapt  her  feet  in 
her  long  dress,  and  in  a  minute  was  fast  asleep. 
Rosalie  laughed,  vexed  as  she  was,  and  I  had 
tears,  without  laughter.  She  was  quite  as 
much  refreshed,  she  said,  as  she  would  have 
been  by  a  half  night's  sleep,  and  could  well 
afford  to  watch  the  remainder  of  the  time. 

Mrs.  Graham  took  leave  early  in  the  mor 
ning  :  she  was  so  overcome  with  the  watching 
that  in  justice  to  herself  she  must  seek  a  little 
rest;  she  didn't  suppose  she  should  sleep 


M  A  R  K  i  E  D  ,    NOT    MATED.        247 

she  never  did  ;  but  a  recumbent  position  was 
grateful  to  her.  She  would  send  Stafford  to 
visit  Uncle  Peter  at  once ;  she  didn  't  know 
that  personal  feelings  should  prevent  her  from 
recommending  him  as  a  physician  ;  she  had  no 
doubt  but  that  her  dear  friend  Mr.  Throckmor- 
ton  would,  in  a  few  days,  under  the  treatment 
of  Stafford,  be  fully  restored. 

Now,  as  Uncle  Peter  had  slept  the  greater 
part  of  the  night,  in  consequence  of  not  having 
Aunt  Sally  to  humor  all  his  whims,  he  was 
decidedly  better,  and,  having  partaken  of  toast 
and  tea,  professed  himself  desirous  of  receiving 
the  professional  services  of  Dr.  Stafford  Gra 
ham. 

"  If  he  possesses  any  of  his  mother's  ta 
lents,"  said  Rosalie,  "  I  should  not  be  sur 
prised  at  the  most  extraordinary  results." 

For  two  hours  Uncle  Peter  waited  pretty 
calmly,  but  no  Dr.  Graham  made  his  appear 
ance.  He  then  grew  impatient,  and  stationed 
Rose  at  the  window  to  give  him  the  earliest 
tidings  of  the  doctor's  approach,  She  prefer 
red  however  to  seek  a  position  commanding  a 
wider  view,  as  she  said,  and  escaping  from  the 

t* 


M8         MARRIED,    NOT     MATED. 

chamber,  seated  herself  among  the  flowers  in 
a  corner  of  the  grounds.  Uncle  Peter  shortly 
felt  greatly  worse,  and  Westley  was  sent,  in  all 
haste,  to  summon  Dr.  Graham. 

The  message  was  promptly  responded  to, 
and  the  yonng  physician,  in  an  extremely  neat 
carriage,  drawn  by  a  fine-blooded  and  well- 
groomed  horse,  was  shortly  at  Throckmorton 
Hall. 

He  came  down  the  walk  with  easy  graceful 
ness,  stopping  once  to  cull  a  flower,  and  once 
to  listen  to  a  bird,  quite  forgetful,  apparently, 
of  his  patient.  Hose  sat  on  the  green  border 
of  the  path  by  which  he  approached,  weaving 
a  long  chain  of  roses,  and  singing  to  herself, 
nor  did  she  desist  from  either  singing  or  weav 
ing  flowers  as  he  drew  near  her,  nor  even 
when  he  turned,  and  with  a  smile  of  exceed 
ing  sweetness,  gave  the  salutation  of  the  morn 
ing.  To  her  he  was  simply  the  doctor,  come 
to  see  her  Uncle  Peter,  and  she  was  dependent 
on  herself  for  happiness,  and  not  on  anybody 
else.  She  was  not  one  to  fasten  herself  as  a 
dead  weight  upon  another,  or  with  longing  and 
pining  for  things  out  of  her  reach  to  -render 


MAKKIED,    NOT    MATED.        249 

things  about  her  worthless.  If  she  had  not 
wine  she  drank  water,  and  if  she  had  not  a  fine 
equipage  she  used  her  feet,  and  thanked  hea 
ven  that  they  so  well  answered  all  needful 
purposes. 

Doctor  Stafford  Graham's  visit  was  very 
brief — he  had  declined  making  it  at  his 
mothers  suggestion,  he  said,  but  had  come  at 
the  earliest  moment  on  receiving  the  summons 
of  Uncle  Peter  through  his  man.  He  thought 
no  medical  aid  whatever  was  necessary  :  care 
as  to  diet  and  a  short  drive  in  the  open  air 
would  insure  a  night's  repose,  and  the  follow 
ing  morning  his  patient,  he -was  sure,  would 
be  in  a  condition  to  sanction  his  prescription. 
He  begged  of  Aunt  Sally  to  feel  no  alarm 
at  all,  on  her  husband's  account,  as  nature 
would  speedily  right  herself  with  him,  but 
rather  to  direct  attention  to  her  own  case ;  and 
as  he  took  her  feverish  hand  in  his,  his  tender 
ness  of  manner  and  voice  contrasted  strangely 
with  his  proud  and  almost  haughty  bearing 
toward  Uncle  Peter. 

I  could  not  divert  my  eyes  from  him,  as  he 
Bat  conversing  with  my  dear  aunt ;  so  exceed 
11* 


250        MABKIED,    NOT    MATED. 

ingly  handsome  was  he,  as  his  face  lighted  up 
with  a  kindly  smile ;  and  yet  his  was  hardly 
the  kind  of  beauty  to  inspire  a  quick  affection, 
and  his  carriage,  though  perfectly  polite,  was 
;hat  of  the  worldling,  not  of  the  Christian. 
N"o  discipline  of  sorrow  or  of  dependence  had 
mrified  his  ambitious  and  selfish  nature. 

I  know  not  whether  it  was  the  nobility  of 
manhood,  or  whether  it  was  a  something  which 
it  would  be  useless  to  try  to  explain,  but  I  felt 
drawn  toward  him,  and  wished,  in  childish 
folly,  that  I  might  say  or  do  something  that 
would  interest  him.  I  was  glad,  therefore, 
when  he  admired  the  eglantine  that  clambered 
over  the  window,  to  give  him  one  of  the 
sweetest  of  its  flowers.  His  smile  thanked  me 
sufficiently,  and  when,  he  said  they  had  at 
Wood  side  some  beautiful  varieties  of  flowers 
which  he  would  be  happy  to  show  me,  if  1 
would  give  myself  the  trouble  of  going  so  far, 
[  was  disconcerted,  and  in  over  anxiety  to 
be  agreeable  appeared  very  badly. 

Uncle  Peter  gave  himself  a  sudden  turn  in 
bed,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  I  am  ashamed  of 
you;"  and  Aunt  Sally  looked  troubled,  and 


M.  A  K  it  i  E  i) ,    NO  T    MATED.       251 

besought  the  doctor  to  give*  his  entire  attention 
to  her  husband,  though  he  had  wrung  from 
her  the  confession  that  she  was  now  and  then 
troubled  with  hemorrhage,  that  a  cough  in  the 
norning  inconvenienced  her  slightly,  and  that 
Pitches  in  the  side  made  her  nights  restless ; 
frut  all  these  little  ailments,  she  was  sure,  were 
not  worth  talking  about,  especially  when  Mr. 
Throckmorton  was  so  ill. 

"Humph!"  said  Dr.  Graham,  and  though 
an  expression  of  contempt  curled  his  lip  at 
first,  there  was  something  of  pity  in  his  tone, 
as  he  made  his  adieus. 

I  watched  him  from  the  window,  for  so 
faultless  in  proportion,  in  air,  in  action,  did 
he  seem,  that  it  was  a  pleasure  to  look  at  him. 

Rose  had  left  the  green  border  where  she 
sat,  weaving  flowers  together,  when  he  came, 
and  with  the  red  wreath  wound  like  a  turban 
about  her  black  hair,  was  assisting  the  gar 
dener  in  another  part  of  the  grounds.  By 
accident  or  design  the  doctor  turned  into  the 
path  leading  near  her,  but  without  arresting 
her  attention.  The  gardener,  having  offered 
ou  his  own  behalf  a  servile  recognition  of  the 


252       MAKKIED,    NOT    MATED. 

young  aristocrat,  'made  an  effort  to  conceal 
from  the  observation  of  that  elegant  individual 
the  hands  of  Rosalie,  which  were  soiled  with 
the  damp  loam  in  which  she  had  been  adjust 
ing  the  roots  of  some  shrubs  requiring  unusual 
care,  by  stepping  before  her,  and  bending  dex 
terously  a  lilac  bush  so  as  half  to  hide  her  per 
son.  But  his  helper  was  more  ostentatious 
than  ashamed  of  her  homely  occupation,  and 
with  a  derisive  laugh  challenged  his  assistance 
in  her  work,  holding  up  her  fingers  as  if  to 
display  their  taper  proportions,  and  looking 
the  question,  "  Is  that  all  ?"  into  his  astonished 
eyes. 

The  doctor  seemed  to  understand  something 
of  the  degree  of  indifference  with  which  he 
was  regarded,  and  quickened  his  step,  looking 
meanwhile  the  other  way  ;  though  I  observed 
he  took  an  opportunity  of  turning  toward  her 
again,  as  he  drove  off;  but  Rose  had  forgotten 
his  existence,  and  her  own  muddy  hands  and 
red  turban,  and  was  intent  only  on  the  flower- 
bush  she  was  tending.  The  doctor  gave  his 
beautiful  horse  a  vigorous  lash,  whether  from 
vexation  or  habit,  I  know  not,  and  was  soon 


M  A  R  it  i  E  D  ,    NO  T    MATED.       253 

lost  to  my  view  ;  and  I,  who  had  been  watch 
ing  him  so  intently,  received  no  glance  for  my 
trouble.  When  I  asked  Rose  if  "  the  doctor  " 
was  not  charming?  she  asked,  "  Which  one  ?" 
Dr.  Snakeroot  had  engrossed  as  much  of  her 
thoughts  as  our  handsome  neighbor. 

Uncle  Peter  was  a  good  deal  vexed  that  he 
had  received  so  little  attention,  but  his  humi 
liating  and  Christianizing  fears  were  subdued, 
and,  strive  as  he  would,  he  could  not  take  him 
self  back  to  the  door  of  death. 

A  dismal  night  set  in,  such  as  comes  some 
times  in  seasons  of  the  greatest  beauty  ;  and 
the  gloomy  time  imparted  a  sombre  feeling 
to  all,  so  that  none  of  us  were  sorry  when 
Uncle  Peter  renewed  his  request  that  Mrs. 
Perrin  should  be  sent  for.  Westley  brought 
her  in  the  coach,  and  her  plain  wrinkled  face 
was  really  like  sunshine  when  she  entered  the 
chamber.  The  wind  and  rain  drove  against 
the  windows,  and  the  sick  man  groaned,  when 
a  quick  step  trod  the  stairs,  and  the  old  mourn 
ing  garments  rustled  into  his  presence. 

"  It's  a  right  stormy  night,"  said  Mrs.  Per 
rin,  removing  and  folding  her  black  shawl; 


254:          M  A  li  li  I  E  D  ,      NOT     MATED. 

"  bad  weather  for  cattle  that  are  out ;"  and  she 
placed  a  small  basket  on  the  table,  approach 
ed  the  bed,  and  bending  over  it,  said : 

"  Here 's  Aunty  Pen-in,  come  to  see  you ; 
won't  you  shake  hands  with  her  ?  Why,  your 
head  is  sunk  down,  and  you  don't  lie  good,  do 
you?"  And  slier  bolstered,  and  patted,  and 
turned  Uncle  Peter  about,  saying  directly, 
"there,  isn't  that  better?" 

Having  made  these  comfortable  arrange 
ments,  she  seated  herself  on  the  bedside,  and 
asked  what  had  been  done ;  and  when  informed, 
expressed  great  wonder  that  the  patient  was 
still  alive. 

"  They  sha'n't  abuse  him  no  more,'5  she  said, 
"  I  will  just  stay  here  arid  take  care  of  him; 
and  he  shall  have  some  nice  supper,  and  no 
more  old  hot  bricks  and  steaming  kettles  to 
bake  him  or  bile  him  to  death.  Aunty  Perrin 
will  make  him  well." 

Uncle  Peter  was  soothed,  and  groaned  a 
kind  of  thankful  and  satisfied  groan. 

Adjusting  the  bedding  to  the  proper  thick 
ness,  she  bathed  the  face  and  hands  of  the  sick 
man  in  pure  cold  water,  and  having  given  him 


M  A  is  K  i  E  D  ,    NOT    MATED.       255 

a  cordial,,  trimmed  up  tlie  candle,  and  began 
some  sewing-work  she  had  brought  with  her, 

O  O  / 

talking  as  fast  as  she  stitched  :  now  of  her 

o 

kicking  cow,  and  now  of  the  exorbitant  rent 

O     »  ? 

she  had  to  pay,  and  then,  turning  from  her 
own  domestic  affairs,  regaling  us  with  a  little 
harmless  gossip.  That  some  people  should  do 
such  queer  things,  as  everybody  said  they  did, 
was  a  matter  of  curious  speculation,  to  her  and 
to  all  of  us.  Presently,  to  the  music  of  her 
voice,  and  our  pleased  surprise,  Uncle  Peter 
fell  asleep,  and  after  an  hour,  awoke  quite 
revived  ;  he  even  thought  he  "  could  eat  a 
mouthful." 

Mrs.  Perrin  now  brought  into  notice  her 
little  basket,  and  removing  the  napkin,  disclo 
sed  a  variety  of  delicacies  that  might  have 
tempted  an  appetite  nicer  than  Uncle  Peter's. 
Having  eaten  ail  his  stomach  would  bear,  he 
said — we  thought  it  was  all  it  would  hold — he 
fell  asleep  again,  and  did  not  awake  till  broad 
daylight. 

True  to  her  promise,  Mrs.  Perrin  remained, 
nursing  and  watching,  till  Uncle  Peter  was 
quite  well,  and  though  all  his  visitors  took  to 


25G        M  A K K  i E i) ,    NO  T    MATED. 

tliemselves  the  credit  of  effecting  liis  cure,  I 
liave  always  thought  she  deserved  the  largest 
share  of  gratitude  ;  arid  Uncle  Peter  thought 
so,  too,  as  the  future  proved. 


M  A  E.  P.  i  K  D  ,    NOT    MATED.       257 


CHAPTER  IY. 

UNCLE  PETER  was  quite  recovered,  but 
in  compliment  to  his  late  severe  illness  lie 
kept  Iris  chamber  most  of  the  time,  and  adhered 
pertinaciously  to  morning  gown  and  slippers. 
Poor  Aunt  Sally  could  not  get  over  the  con 
viction  that  Mr.  Throckinortori's  nerves  had 
sustained  a  shock  from  which  they  would 
never  entirely  recover;  day  by  day  she  saw 
him  drifting  unconsciously  nearer  and  nearer 
to  a  visionary  tomb.  Every  now  and  then 
I  observed  her  making  her  way  into  some 
closet,  or  behind  some  curtain,  benevolently  to 
conceal  her  tears  from  the  doomed  victim. 
She  might  have  spared  herself  the  trouble,  or 
have  wept  on  her  own  account;  good,  dear 
woman  !  it  was  she  who  was  doomed  —  there 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATKT. 


was  a  tomb  a  little  way  before  her,  but  not 
for  him  she  loved  so  much  more  than  herself. 

"  My  dear  ward,  I  think  I  could  take  a 
sandwich  and  a  glass  of  wine."  said  Uncle 
Peter,  lifting  his  eyes  toward  Rose,  who  sat 
reading,  apparently  oblivious  of  everything 
but  her  book.  I  waited  a  moment,  and  seeing 
that  she  did  not  avail  herself  of  the  oppor 
tunity  of  serving  him,  hastened  to  do  so  myself. 

"Thank  you,  Ifose,"  he  said,  when  I  sat 
down  the  salver.  Uncle  Peter  either  would 
not,  or  could  not  believe  that  I  was  capable 
of  doing  him  a  favor. 

"  My  ward,  a  little  more  sugar." 

I  hastened  to  bring  it,  while  Rose  continued 
to  read  on,  undisturbed. 

"  I^ow,  my  dear  Rosy  !  another  spoon,"  still 
seeming  deceived. 

"Yes,  Uncle  Samuel  Peter,"  she  answered, 
closing  her  book  over  one  of  her  fingers,  and 
leaving  the  room,  with  a  sly  nod  at  me.  As 
she  did  not  return  with  the  spoon,  I  presently 
followed,  and  found  her  waiting  me  at  the 
foot  of  the  staircase,  with  our  hoods  concealed 
beneath  her  apron. 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       259 

"  Do  let  us  get  out  of  this  atmosphere  for  a 
while,  if  we  can,"  she  said ;  "  it  aifects  me 
disagreeably ;"  and  with  a  nod,  that  said 
come  on,  she  went  out.  I  lingered  a  moment, 
questioning  whether  it  was  quite  right  to  steal 
away  thus,  and  as  I  did  so,  heard  Aunt  Sally 
struggling  with  a  little  faint  cough,  which  she 
seemed  trying  to  suppress,  lest  the  noise 
should  annoy  Mr.  Throckmorton.  She  was 
coming  down  herself  for  the  teaspoon.  My 
conscience  smote  me,  and  I  stole  after  Rose, 
who  stood,  archly  smiling,  behind  a  lilac  bush, 
and  repeating  to  Uncle  Peter,  who  saw  her 
from  the  window,  "  One  lean  goose  upturned 
a  slanting  eye." 

So  we  turned  aside  from  the  window  — 
strolled  through  the  garden  —  then  leisurely 
under  the  apple  boughs,  trembling  and  whis 
pering  together  —  crossed  a  green  meadow, 
and  struck  into  a  narrow  path  leading  by  a 
long  hedge,  and  worn  deep  and  smooth. 

"Where  are  you  going,  Rose?"  I  said,  at 
last ;  for  skipping  and  singing,  and  tossing  up 
and  catching  her  bonnet,  she  kept  before, 
while  I,  in  silence,  followed,  thinking  of  Aunt 


260       MARRIED,    NO  T    M  A T E  D . 

Sally's  pale  face  and  hollow  cough,  and  won 
dering  whether  Uncle  Peter  would  not  scold 
on  our  return. 

"  Where  am  I  going  ?  why,  I  do  n't  know 
or  care  —  any  where  — •  wherever  this  path 
leads ;  I  guess  it  will  take  us  to  some  good 
place  —  do  n't  you  think  so  ?" 

I  shook  my  head,  for  it  was  not  in  my 
nature  to  anticipate  finding  a  good  place  at 
any  time.  We  had  gone  a  mile,  or  more, 
Ttose  often  stopping  to  admire  the  landscape, 
which,  she  said,  did  set  off  the  Hall  beauti 
fully,  when  the  path  terminated  in  a  gap,  and 
we  found  ourselves  in  a  green,  quiet  lane, 
bordered  with  cedars,  and  spicewood,  and 
gray  mullen  stalks,  all  starry  with  flowers. 

I  thought  Rose  would  return  now,  but  she 
ran  laughingly  on,  saying  she  knew  we  should 
come  to  something  good,  and  the  prospect 
seemed  to  justify  her  words.  Away  and 
away  the  lane  stretched,  till  it  was  lost  in 
thick  woods,  and  not  a  human  habitation 
was  visible ;  but  when  we  gained  a  green 
eminence,  half  a  mile  from  the  road  along 
which  run  the  path  and  the  hedge,  we  saw 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       261 

lying  immediately  beneath  us,  insulated  with 
hills,  the  prettiest  little  homestead  we  had 
ever  beheld.  We  could  only  catch  glimpses 
of  the  white  walls  of  what  seemed  a  very 
small  house,  so  closely  grew  the  trees  and 
shrubs  about  it.  A  plurnp  cow,  with  breath 
smelling  sweet  as  the  clover  which  she  ate, 
lifted  her  head  over  the  lane  fence,  as  if  to 
give  us  welcome,  and  the  chickens  cackled, 
dividing  from  our  path  as  we  approached  the 
porch,  before  which  glistened  bright  tin  pans 
and  all  other  dairy  garniture.  Everything 
looked  pleasant  and  cheerful ;  the  very  pinks 
along  the  garden  beds  grew  up  in  trim,  thrifty 
bunches,  as  though  they  were  just  as  sweet 
smelling  as  any  other  flowers,  and  enjoyed 
just  as  much  of  the  glad  sunshine.  The  white 
curtains  at  the  open  windows  fluttered,  as  it 
were  with  a  lively  satisfaction,  and  the  birds 
chirped  and  twittered  along  the  low  eaves,  as 
though  they  were  that  morning  rehearsing  an 
opera. 

Dividing  away  the  bushes,  that  sometimes 
hung  almost  across  the  path,  Hose  made  her 


262       MAREIED,    NOT    MATED. 

way  right  to  the  porch,  as  if  assured  of  a 
welcome. 

"Don't  Kose,"  I  said  once  or  twice;  "do 
let  us  go  back  ;  what  will  you  say  ?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  answered  gaily; 
"  when  I  see  whom  I  shall  see,  I  shall  be  able 
to  tell  what  to  say." 

"-Bless  my  life !  your  faces  look  good  to  a 
body ;  how  is  Aunt  Sally,  and  Uncle  Peter, 
and  all?" 

It  was  a  familiar  voice  that  accosted  us, 
and,  peering  through  a  rose  bush,  we  saw  the 
tidy  little  person  of  Mrs.  Perrin,  standing 
beneath  a  cherry  tree,  a  little  apart  from  the 
door,  and  makinsr  her  morning's  butter.  We 

j  O  O 

helped  her  to  churn  —  it  seemed  easy  work — • 
while  she  sat  by,  chatting  as  fast  and  as  lively 
as  the  birds.  When  the  butter  making- was 
ended,  she  must  pull  some  weeds  from  the 
garden  beds,  and  we  assisted  at  this,  too;  then 
she  prepared  vegetables  for  the  dinner,  and 
kindled  a  lire,  which  crackled  and  blazed  up 
the  chimney,  as  if  glad  to  obey  her  will,  and 
when  the  lid  of  the  dinner  pot  began  to  dance 


MARRIED,      NOT      MATED.          263 

over  the  steam,  Mrs.  Perrin  untied  her  checked 
apron,  and  hanging  it  over  the  coffee-mill,  and 
exchanging  her  plain  cap  for  one  with  black 
ribbons  in  the  border,  took  up  her  sewing 
work,  and  sat  do*wn  on  the  shady  porch,  look 
ing  as  neat  as  though  fresh  from  a  dressing 
room.  The  folds  of  the  ironing  were  in  her 
dark  dress,  and  her  cap  ribbon  had  none  of 
the  rusty  look  which  mourning  ribbons  are 
apt  to  have.  Her  shoes  squeaked  as  she 
walked,  and  had  a  new  look,  and  though 
her  face  was  wrinkled,  and  her  hair  grey, 
her  heart  seemed  as  fresh  and  joyons  as  all 
the  smiling  nature  about  us. 

"It  looks  rather  too  shiftless,"  she  said,  "to 
see  two  great  girls  like  you,  big  enough  to 
be  married,  sitting  idle,"  and  she  hastened  to 
supply  us  with  sewing,  telling  us  she  was 
particular,  and  it  must  be  neat. 

Rose   laughed   at   the   idea   of   beiner  bi^ 

o  o          o 

enough  to  be  married,  and  said  she  feared 
she  was  not  wise  enough  to  choose  a  husband, 
though  one  should  offer,  which  was  not  likely. 
"Just  let  me  tell  you,"  said  Mrs.  Perrin, 
putting  down  her  work,  "there  is  no  choosing 


264:      MAKKIED,    NOT    MATED. 

about  it  —  first  thing  you  know  there  will  be 
somebody  in  your  heart  that  all  the  world 
could  n't  buy,  and  that  will  be  the  right  one 
—  no  matter  whether  he  is  rich  or  poor  —  no 
matter  about  nothing  else."  .And  Mrs.  Perrin 
seemed  to  glide  away  back  into  the  distance, 
and  for  a  moment  a  shadow  came  over  her  coun 
tenance  ;  but  she  presently  resumed  her  sewing, 
with  a  quicker  stitch,  if  possible,  saying,  as  a 
smile  struggled  with  ,  shadow,  '"It's  of  no 
use  for  a  body  to  be  bringing  up  their  mel 
ancholy  feelings." 

I  looked  at  her  kindly  face  and  neat  mourn 
ing  dress,  with  new  interest.  She  had  been 
young,  perhaps  pretty  sometime,  and  had  had 
a  lover  — he  was  gone  now,  and  the  mourning 
dress  linked  him  in  our  thoughts  with  the 
grave ;  but  in  the  widow's  heart  there  was 
a  'memory  of  blessedness,  and  this  it  was 
which  kept  it  young,  for  through  the  ages 
of  eternity  the  affections  of  some  will  not 
grow  old.  Try  as  she  would,  the  old  lady 
could  not  quite  recover  her  accustomed  cheer 
fulness,  till,  with  a  sudden  energy,  she  threw 
down  her  work,  and  brought  out  the  breakfast 


M  A  K  R  i  E  D  ,    NOT    MATED.       265 

table  to  the  shady  porch,  when  the  clatter  of 
the  dishes  had  the  effect  of  restoring  her 
spirits.  "If  a  body  don't  want  to  get  lone- 
Bome,  a  body  must  not  take  time,"  she  said  ; 
and  I  h:ive  often  thought  since,  that  she 
understood  the  true  art  of  life.  Rust  wears 
away  the  iron  that  is  not  kept  bright  with  use, 
and  the  moth  frets  out  the  idle  garment. 

A  pleasant  dinner  we  had  on  the  shady 
porch  with  good  Mrs.  Pen-in,  and  when  it  was 
concluded,  she  asked  if  we  would  like  to  take 
a  little  walk  with  her ;  she  had  some  work  to 
do,  which  it  was  lonely  doing  alone. 

We  said  yes,  she  provided  herself  with  a 
garden-knife,  and  we  set  out  together,  Rose 
and  I  wondering  very  much  what  it  was  she 
proposed  to  do.  We  struck  across  the  fields, 
going  further  and  farther  from  home,  and 
gradually  nearing  the  woods.  At  last,  when 
we  had  gone  nearly  a  mile,  Mrs.  Perrin  said, 
"Yonder,  where  you  see  the  man  at  work  — 
there  is  where  I  am  going."  And  looking 
across  to  the  next  hill,  where  a  thin  growth 
of  maple  trees  cast  their  dark  shadows,  we 
saw  a  tall,  slender  young  man,  who  wore 
12 


266          M  A  R  K  I  E  D  ,      NOT      MATED. 

neither  coat  nor  hat,  digging  in  the  ground. 
We  could  not  think  what  our  friend  proposed 
to  do,  but  as  we  climbed  the  hill  we  saw  it 
was  a  grave-yard  that  we  approached,  and 
that  the  young  man  had  been'  cutting  away 
the  weeds,  and  tending  the  flowers.  Hearing 
our  voices,  he  desisted  and  came  forward, 
shaking  hands  with  Mrs.  Perrin,  and  bowing 
politely  to  us ;  she  introduced  us  as  girls 
from  the  Hall,  and  before  she  named  him, 
I  recognized  the  brother  of  Doctor  Graham  — 
not  so  handsome,  certainly,  as  he,  but  with 
a  strong  family  likeness. 

1  said  so,  and  this  person,  whom  Mrs. 
Perrin  called  Henry,  evidently  felt  it  to  be  a 
compliment,  for  with  a  color  a  little  height 
ened,  and  an  almost  grateful  look,  he  at  once 
resumed  his  coat,  which  had  previously  hung 
over  a  white  marble  tombstone,  and  smooth 
ed  his  yellow  curls,  as  if  in  complaisance  to 
me. 

"I  came  over  to  see  how  my  grave  was 
looking,  but  you  have  kept  all  so  nice,  I  do  n't 
think  there  is  much  to  do  ;"  and  Mrs.  Perrin 
bent  her  steps  toward  a  mound,  a  little  apart 


MARKIED,    NOT    MATED.       267 

from  the  two  others :  there  were  only  three 
in  all. 

"  It  is  the  grave  of  her  husband,"  said 
Henry,  looking  toward  the  woman,  as  she 
pulled  the  weeds  from  among  the  flowers 
about  it. 

"  Strange,  she  has  no  headstone,"  said  I ; 
but  Rose  answered,  "  JSTo !  only  she  cares 
where  he  lies,  and  she  can  find  her  way  to 
the  place  without  such  a  guide." 

"  Yes,"  said  Henry,  "  even  through  that 
dark  place  she  will  find  her  way  to  him,  I 
hope,"  and  he  turned  away,  and  plucked 
weeds,  busily,  from  a  little  green  hillock, 
over  which  lay  a  marble  slab,  on  which  was 
sculptured  an  angel,  leading  by  the  hand  a 
child. 

"Where  the  shadow  fell  most  darkly  on  the 
green  earth,  and  the  flowers  seemed  to  flourish 
most  brightly,  stood  a  simple,  white  stone,  with 
the  name  of  "Nellie,"  surrounded  with  a 
wreath  of  roses. 

Now  and  then  Henry  would  cease  work, 
and  say  to  us  some  pleasant  thing ;  but  there 


268       M  A  K  R  i  E  D  ,    NOT    MA  TED. 

seemed  a  gloom  settling,  rather  than  settled, 
in  his  face,  and  he  stooped  slightly,  as  though 
used  to  some  burthen. 

I  liked  him,  in  part  for  his  kindly  smile, 
and  in  part  for  the  amiable  work  he  was 
doing.  I  felt  that  he  must  be  good,  and 
that  he  was  not  happy,  and  wished  to  say  or 
do  something  for  his  pleasure  ;  but,  while 
1  meditated  what  it  might  be,  Rose  fell 
to  assisting  him,  and  they  were  soon  talking 
cheerfully,  if  not  gaily,  together.  Now  and 
then,  however,  the  gloomy  look  came  back,  arid 
whenever  it  did,  I  observed  that  he  turned  his 
eyes  in  the  direction  of  the  house  in  sight, 
which  I  supposed  to  be  his  home. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Mrs.  Perrin,  wiping  the 
sweat  from  her  forehead,  "  that  will  do,  now, 
I  guess,  and  in  another  year,  if  I  should  n't  be 
here,  some  of  you  children  will  keep  the  weeds 
down,  and  set  a  flower  or  two  in  another  place, 
may  be." 

"Somebody  has  been  at  work  there,"  she 
continued,  looking  at  Henry,  "and  I  don't 
think  it  was  Stafford  ;"  and  I  remarked  then, 


MAKKIED,    NOT    MATED.       269 

and  afterward,  that  she  never  said  Doctor 
Graham,  except  with  such  an  emphasis,  as 
made  it  seem  a  jest. 

She  had  boxed  his  ears  many  a  time,  and 
how  could  she  call  him  Doctor  Graham,  "  in 
good  earnest." 

When  the  work  was  finished,  Henry  leaned 
against  the  tombstone  of  "Nellie,"  and  seemed 
loth  to  turn  his  steps  homeward ;  at  last  he 
said,  "Won't  you  go  with  me?"  but  though 
he  had  appeared  anxious  to  be  very  polite 
to  us,  I  thought  that  he  would  have  preferred 
our  answering,  ~No. 

We  looked  to  Mrs.  Perrin,  and  she  accepted 
the  invitation ;  she  had  not  seen  Mrs.  Graham 
for  a  long  while,  and  would  like  right  well  to 
have  a  chat  with  her.  Mr.  Graham  said  his 
wife  would  be  glad  of  our  company,  but  the 
words  struck  me  as  without  much  meaning. 

Mrs.  Perrin  talked  fluently  as  we  passed 
along,  clipping  the  top  of  a  weed  now  and 
then,  from  the  mere  habit  of  being  busy. 
She  found  something  to  admire  every  where 
—  now  the  cows  in  the  meadow ;  now  the 
bright  water-spring  overflowing  its  stony 


270       MAKE  IE  D,    NUT    MATED. 

border  and  making  a  strip  of  green  down 
the  valley  ;  now  some  highly  cultivated  field 
that  she  thought  would  more  than  pay  the 
labor  it  had  cost ;  and  now  a  fine  tree  that 
would  make  such  nice  fire-wood.  Only  one 
thing  she  saw  to  find  fault  with — a  hedge 
of  willows  along  the  brook  :  she  could  n't  see 
what  good  they  did. 

"  Oh,  they  beautify  the  landscape,"  answer* 
ed  Henry. 

"  What  do  they  do  ?"  asked  the  old  woman, 
with  a  puzzled  look. 

"  It  is  a  foolish  fancy  of  mine  to  leave  them 
there :  that  is  all ;"  and  falling  back  a  little, 
Henry  said  something  to  Rosalie  about  never 
being  understood,  and  concluded,  with  a  sigh 
which  escaped  him  ere  he  was  aware,  and 
which  he  attempted  to  make  her  believe  was 
only  a  mockery,  "  I  do  n't  know  —  perhaps  I 
never  understood  myself." 

We  were  now  coming  near  the  house,  and 
Henry  walked  slower  and  slower,  and  looking 
on  the  ground,  became  silent. 

Close  by  our  path  (we  were  now  within  the 
door-yard),  grew  a  willow,  its  branches  trailing 


MARRIED.    NOT    MATED.       271 

almost  to  the  ground ;  suddenly  a  pale  little 
face  peered  out  from  the  shadow  they  made  ; 
and  a  smile  of  peculiar  and  quiet  beauty  ex 
pressed  more  joy  even  than  the  words,  "  Oh, 
father !"  This  was  all  the  child  said,  and  see 
ing  strangers,  she  retired  within  the  shadow. 

"  It 's  my  little  girl,"  said  Henry,  and  his 
face  grew  radiant ;  "  come  out,  Xell,  and  let 
them  see  you ;"  and  he  parted  the  boughs, 
but  not  till  he  had  taken  his  daughter's  hand, 
and  almost  forcibly  led  her,  would  she  come 
out ;  and  when  she  did,  her  great  brown  eyes 
had  a  beseeching,  almost  a  tearful  expression, 
as  she  held  her  torn  and  unfastened  dress  to 
gether  with  her  hand,  as  if  saying,  "  Do  not 
blame  me  —  it  is  not  my  fault." 

The  father  tried  to  smooth  away  the  curly 
tangles  of  her  abundant  hair  with  his  hand; 
but  it  defied  his  skill,  and  with  a  "Xever 
mind,  my  dear,"  he  pinned  the  untidy  dresfl 
over  the  thin  and  sun-burnt  shoulders  of  the 
girl,  remarking,  u  We  will  go  in,  and  see  if  WG 
can't  improve  your  toilet  a  little." 

"  Xo,  father  !r  said  Xellie,  "  I  will  stay  here. 

"Why,  my  child?" 


272       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

"  Jimmy  is  here,  asleep,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  we  will  wake  him  up  ;"  but  Nellie 
prevented  her  father  from  doing  so,  by  pulling 
his  head  down  to  hers,  and  whispering  some 
thing  in  his  ear,  of  which  I  caught  the  mean 
ing  sufficiently  to  know  she  had  been  charged 
by  her  mother  to  keep  the  baby  out  of  her 
sight  all  the  afternoon. 

"Well,  then,"  said  the  father,  letting  go 
her  hand,  as  if  there  were  no  appeal,  "  but  it 
seems  to  me  Jimmy  ought  not  to  lie  on  the 
damp  ground." 

"  Mother  says  it  won't  hurt  him,"  answered 
the  little  girl ;  "but  I  have  spread  my  apron 
on  the  grass,  and  I  keep  his  head  on  my  lap 
a'most  all  the  time." 

"Well,"  he  said  again,  and  we  left  her 
there. 

I  felt  uncomfortable,  and  could  not  keep  the 
delicate  and  sweet-faced  creature  out  of  my 
mind  ;  she  had  an  air,  as  if  meekly  yielding  to 
a  hard  destiny,  that  I  had  never  seen  on  the 
face  of  a  child  till  then,  and  her  unkempt  hair, 
bare  feet,  and  untidy  garments,  attested  the 
negligence  with  which  she  was  treated. 


M  A  B  K  1  E  D  ,      NOT      MATED.          273 

The  doors  and  windows  of  the  hon'se  stood 
open,  and  it  had  a  dusty  and  empty  look, 
as  though  the  mistress  were  dead,  or  gone  on  a 
journey.  With  no  work-basket,  no  easy-chair, 
no  flowers,  the  stiff  old-fashioned  furniture  had 
the  appearance  of  having  been  bought  a  cen 
tury  before,  and  of  having  remained  all  that 
time  in  the  position  in  which  it  was  placed 
at  first,  without  renovation,  without  dusting, 
even.  Flies  darkened  the  windows,  and  fre 
quent  holes  in  the  faded  Turkey  carpet  showed 
an  accumulation  of  dirt  beneath  which  might 
have  been  useful  in  the  garden. 

After  considerable  search,  through  kitchen, 
cellar,  and  the  premises  in  general,  Henry 
succeeded  in  finding  a  sluttish,  ill-bred  girl, 
supposed  to  be  a  servant,  whom  he  dispatched 
in  quest  of  Mrs.  Graham. 

This  young  woman,  who  answered  to  the 
name  of  Jo,  returned,  after  an  absence  of 
unreasonable  length,  and  informed  us  that  the 
lady  would  see  us  in  her  own  room.  In 
response  to  Mr.  Graham's  direction  to  show 
us  up,  she  grinned,  and  slapped  the  wall  with 
a  dish-cloth,  as  she  led  the  way. 
12*. 


274        MA  KB  i  ED,    NOT    MATED. 

The  apartments  seemed  pitched  together, 
one  a  little  above  another,  and  there  were 
many  corners,  and  points,  and  turnings,  so 
that  we  could  form  no  idea  where  our  journey 
was  likely  to  terminate,  till  the  brown-armed 
maid  suddenly  wheeled  about,  and  kicking 
backward,  forced  a  door  open,  when,  saying 
"  She  is  in  there,"  she  retreated,  beating  the 
wall  again  with  her  wet  and  dirty  napkin. 

The  room  we  entered,  though  Mrs.  Gra 
ham's  own,  presented  no  better  aspects ;  it 
had  the  same  glaring,  staring,  dirty,  and 
empty  air.  Soiled  towels,  in  strings,  were  over 
the  chair-backs  ;  basins  half  full  of  water, 
which  seemed  to  have  been  dipped  from 
some  stagnant  pool,  and  pitchers  with  their 
gilding  mostly  concealed  under  greasy  ac 
cumulations,  garnished  the  seats  and  floor ; 
bundles  of  dirty  clothes  protruded  from 
beneath  the  bed;  night-caps  and  old  hats 
hung  over  the  pictures ;  spider-webs  were 
about  the  cornices  and  windows ;  dishes  of 
fruits  and  parings,  soup-plates,  and  spoons,  and 
bottles  of  oil,  and  pill  boxes,  added  to  the  vari 
ous  confusion.  The  book-case  was  open,  and  its 


MAKKIED,    NOT    MATED. 


contents  were  piled  in  a  sort  of  wall,  around 
the  great  cliair  in  which  Mrs.  Annette  Gra 
ham,  mistress  of  Woodside,  sat,  enveloped, 
for  the  most  part,  in  a  bed  blanket.  Having 
removed  various  obstacles,  and  dusted  one  of 
the  chairs,  Mrs.  Perriii  seated  herself,  glancing 
about  in  a  way  that  seemed  to  say,  "I  ex 
pected  to  find  things  bad  enough,  but  this 
surpasses  the  ideas  I  had  formed  even  of  your 
slovenliness." 

Not  at  all  discomposed  was  Mrs.  Graham 
by  these  astonished  and  reproving  looks  ; 
scarcely,  indeed,  did  she  lift  her  eyes  from 
the  jeweled  fingers  that  locked  themselves 
together  on  her  lap. 

She  had  no  energy,  she  said,  and  had  lost 
the  hope  of  ever  regaining  that  she  once  had  ; 
she  was  quite  reconciled  to  her  prison,  withal, 
from  which  she  hardly  expected  ever  to  go 
out  again. 

Her  eyes  looked  purposeless  out  from  their 
black  setting  ;  her  hair  was  quite  gray  ;  and 
her  face  lifeless  and  inanimate. 

"Do  you  want  to  read  all  these  books?" 
said  Mrs.  Pen-in  ;  and  yielding  to  a  natural 


276       MAKKIED,    NOT    MATED. 

impulse,  she  began  to  replace  them,  one  by 
one,  in  the  case,  dusting  them  as  she  did  so. 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Graham,  in  the  same  im 
passive  tone,  "  I  have  been  turning  them  over 
a  little." 

"  Whyj  can  't  you  find  anything  to  do  to 
amuse  yourself?"  asked  the  dame,  sharply. 

"I  am  not  well  enough  to  work,"  she  re 
plied,  "  and  I  do  n't  know  anything  worth 
doing,  if  I  were." 

Mrs.  Perrin's  look  grew  more  compas 
sionate  ;  perhaps  she  is  really  ill,  she  thought, 
and  by  wray  of  awakening  her  interest,  if  any 
thing  could,  she  spoke  of  her  children,  saying 
how  pretty  Nellie  was,  and  how  pale  the  baby 
looked,  as  if  he  were  falling  away. 

"  I  do  n't  know  as  Nell  is  pretty ;  her  hair 
is  like  her  father's;"  answered  the  mother; 
and  there  was  a  little  more  energy  in  this 
than  anything  she  had  said. 

"Well,  her  father  has  fine  haii-,  I  am  sure," 
said  Mrs.  Perrin,  emphatically  ;  "  it 's  just  the 
color  John's  was,  when  we  were  married." 

"It's  well  enough,"  replied  Annette,  and 
removing  a  ring  from  one  of  her  fingers,  idly 


M  A  R  K  i  E  D  ,    NOT    MATED.       277 

she  tossed  it  with  an  unwonted  effort  toward 
some  spot  upon  the  wall." 

"  Lord !  have  mercy,"  cried  Mrs.  Pen-in ; 
"is  that  the  wedding  ring?" 

"I  don't  know;  it's  quite  immaterial," 
she  replied,  and  locked  her  fingers  together, 
as  before.  Mrs.  Perrin  stood  still,  in  .astonish 
ment.  The  door  opened  softly,  and  Nellie, 
putting  her  face  into  the  room,  asked  if  she 
might  come  in. 

"To  be  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Perrin;  "I  hope 
you  do  n't  have  to  ask  to  come  into  your  own 
mother's  room?" 

"  She  is  so  sick,  you  know,"  answered 
Nellie,  "I  don't  like  to  disturb  her."  .And, 
bent  with  the  burden  of  a  three  years  old 
helpless  child,  she  came  timidly  in. 

"Bless  his  little  soul!"  said  the  kind 
woman;  and,  relieving  Nellie  of  her  little 
brother,  she  expressed  her  feelings  in  the 
most  endearing  caresses. 

The  poor  child  drooped  his  head  on  his 
bosom  quite  resignedly,  and  indifferent,  as  it 
appeared,  to  all  the  affection  she  could  display 
Vr  him. 


278       M  A  it  K  I  E  D  ,    NOT    MATED. 

She  held  him  erect  and  tried  to  make  him 
smile ;  but  he  fell  back  on  her  bosom,  and 
never  smiled  at  all.  "What  are  you  doing 
for  him?"  she  asked,  addressing  the  .mother; 
but  her  attention  seemed  to  be  following  a 
cloud  seen  far  off  through  the  window,  and 
she  did  not  hear.  "  I  say,  do  n't  you  give  him 
no  medicine,  nor  nothing?"  she  repeated,  in  a 
louder  voice. 

"  No,  he  do  n't  need  medicine ;  he  is  always 
just  so  quiet." 

"  I  wish  he  was  n't,  mother ;  I  would  rather 
he  played,  and  was  more  trouble,"  and  Nellie 
pulled  the  hair  over  her  eyes  to  hide  tears 
that  would  come  into  them. 

u  And  has  he  never  more  color  ?"  inquired 
Mrs.  Perrin,  trying  to  kiss  some  into  his 
cheeks. 

"I  don't  know;  I  have  not  noticed  him 
lately,"  said  the  mother,  lifting  her  eyes 
languidly,  but  evincing  no  new  interest. 

"  He  do  n't  seem  to  notice  anything,"  Mrs. 
Perrin  said,  and  laid  the  boy  on  the  lap 
of  his  mother.  He  uttered  a  feeble  and  dis 
tressed  cry,  but  she  spoke  not  to  quiet  him, 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       27!) 

and  with  a  little  purposeless  moving  of  one 
hand,  as  though  it  sought  something,  but  with 
out  touching  his  mother's  bosom,  he  stretch 
ed  himself  across  her  lap,  clasped  his  white 
fingers  together,  and  moaning  to  himself,  fell 
asleep. 

"ISTell,"  said  Mrs.  Graham,  at  last. 

The  daughter,  who  had  been  standing 
meekly  apart,  with  hands  locked  behind  her, 
waiting  in  the  hope  to  receive  some  notice, 
came  forward  with  a  flush  of  joy  in  her  face, 
and  a  smile,  which  illuminated  it  as  when  she 
said  "  Father." 

The  mother  motioned  her  away,  as  though 
her  animated  movement  disturbed  her,  and 
said  calmly,  "Take  this  boy  to  your  grandma, 
and  ask  if  she  thinks  he  is  ill :  I  have  not 
seen  her  these  ten  days  or  a  fortnight." 

Nellie  took  him  up  fondly  and  softly,  and 
went  away  from  the  room  meekly  and  quietly 
as  she  had  come  into  it. 

Mrs.  Perrin,  who  till  now,  with  that  house 
wifely  art  she  understood  so  well,  had  been 
endeavoring  to  put  the  place  in  order,  sud 
denly  desisted  from  the  task,  and  taking  up 


280       MAKKIED,    NOT    MATED. 

her  garden  knife,  gave  a  cut  in  the  air  with  it, 
as  though  saying  "  It's  no  use :  I  can 't  stand  it 
any  longer ;"  and  with  the  words,  "  Come  chil 
dren!"  and  an  abrupt  "Good  bye,"  was  gone. 

I  made  my  courtesy  at  the  door,  but  the  eyes 
of  Mrs.  Graham  had  not  followed  me. 

"Woodside!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Perrin,  as 
she  descended  the  broad  stair-case :  "  a  fine 
place  to  have  a  name,  to  be  sure !  I  might  as 
well  name  my  little  house  Goodside." 

"  Why,  yes,  Mrs.  Perrin,  and  with  a  good 
deal  more  propriety,"  answered  Rosalie,  and 
laughed,  as  she  always  did,  at  everything, 
informing  the  dame  that  she  had  felt  on 
setting  out  as  if  she  was  to  find  something 
good  that  day,  but  that  her  discoveries  had 
beggared  all  anticipations. 

Mrs.  Perrin  also  laughed,  in  spite  of  her 
momentary  vexation,  and  tied  the  bonnet 
strings  which  she  had  indignantly  flung  back 
over  her  shoulders. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  if  there  is  any  better 
place  about  here,  suppose  we  try  to  find  it." 

We  were  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  now,  and 
Jo  presenting  herself,  Mrs.  Perrin  asked  to  be 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.        281 

sliown  into  the  room  of  the  elder  Mrs.  Gra 
ham. 

"  You  can  go  if  you  want  to,"  said  the  girl, 
pointing  in  the  direction  of  a  door  near  by, 
"  but  she  is  as  cross  as  an  old  bear,  and  do  n't 
want  to  see  anybody  ;  may  be  though  she  will 
pretend  to  be  good  as  honey ;  so,  go  in  if 
you  want  to ;  that  ?s  her  den."  Our  rap  was 
answered  by  a  sweet  "  Come  in."  It  was  not 
honeyed,  however,  as  Jo  had  prophesied,  but 
grated  a  little  as  though  it  had  been  dipped 
in  sugar  on  the  instant.  Madam's  face  took 
upon  itself  an  expression  which  was  meant 
to  be  one  of  glad  surprise,  and  in  the  same 
accents  assured  us  that  she  had  been  expect 
ing  to  see  something  very  pleasant,  but  not 
exactly  the  Millenium. 

Nellie  was  gone,  with  the  sick  baby ;  the 
grandmother  had  not  found  it  ill,  I  suppose, 
for  she  was  bestowing  a  large  amount  of  fond 
ness  on  a  cat  and  three  kittens,  which  she  held 
in  her  lap. 

"Sweet  little  retreat,  this,  isn't  it,  dears?" 
she  said,  looking  round  her  den  admiringly 
"  I  have  been  in  it  these  twenty  years  !" 


282       MARKIED,    NOT    MATED. 

I  know  not  how  to  describe  her  or  the 
medley  about  her.  She  was  seventy  years 
old  now,  and  seemed  to  have  been  heedless 
and  slatternly  ever  since  she  was  born ;  and 
both  herself  and  her  sweet  little  retreat  looked 
as  much  worse  than  the  younger  Mrs.  Gra 
ham  and  her  apartment,  as  her  forty  years 
more  of  experience  in  habits  of  slovenliness 
could  make  them.  Mrs.  Perrin  kept  her  dress 
tucked  from  contact  with  anything  about  her, 
and  well  she  might  do  so.  We  declined  an 
invitation,  though  it  was  in  the  sweetest 
phrases,  to  take  a  cup  of  tea,  and  left  her, 
while  she  was  telling  us  of  what  a  lovely 
disposition  her  daughter  Annette  was,  and 
how  beautifully  they  all  lived  together.  She 
called  Jo,  as  we  were  retreating,  and  ordered 
her  to  show  us  the  nursery,  and  the  beautiful 
and  elegant  rooms  occupied  by  her  dear 
sonny,  Stafford. 

Sullenly  that  young  woman  proceeded  to 
execute  this  commission.  The  nursery  de 
manded  our  first  admiration,  and  such  a 
collection  of  cheese  crumbs,  spoons,  ginger 
bread,  rattles,  cradles,  broken  chairs,  and 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.         283 

dishes,  as  were  strewn  over  the  molasses- 
smeared  carpet,  I  never  expect  to  see  again. 
In  the  midst  of  all,  brushing  the  flies  from 
the  face  of  the  baby,  sat  little  Nellie, 
meek  and  patient,  with  the  child  who  lay 
straight,  just  as  he  had  done  across  his 
mother's  knees,  and  with  his  hands  clasped 
on  his  bosom  just  as  we  had  seen  them  there. 

"  Do  n't  you  get  tired,  darling  ?"  asked  Mrs. 
Perrin. 

A  smile  illumined  her  face ;  she  had  not 
been  called  darling  often,  perhaps ;  and  she 
answered,  "No,  my  arms  ache  a  little  some 
times,  but  I  do  n't  get  much  tired ;"  and  so 
we  left  her.  We  next  visited  the  beautiful 
and  elegant  apartments  consecrated  to  the  use 
of  Stafford,  and  here  were  agreeably  surprised 
to  find  order  and  cleanliness.  How  it  was 
created  or  preserved  in  the  midst  of  so  much 
filth  I  know  not,  but  it  had  been,  for  there 
everything  was  nice  and  polished,  shining 
right  in  our  faces  and  demanding  astonish 
ment  as  well  as  admiration ;  pots  of  flowers, 
geological  specimens,  books,  writing  imple 
ments,  music,  and  various  other  tilings,  all 


284        MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

tastefully  arranged,  and  over  all  an  air  which 
evinced  refinement,  pride  and  exclusiveness 
on  the  part  of  their  master,  as  plainly  as' 
words  could  have  done. 

JSTo  particle  of  the  spirit  of  disorder  which 
ruled  other  portions  of  the  house  had  ap 
parently  ever  entered  that  door.  "We  did  not 
feel  at  liberty  to  remain  there  long  enough  to 
take  very  particular  cognizance  of  things ; 
something  seemed  to  inquire  of  us  whether 
we  had  any  especial  business  there,  and  we 
withdrew,  feeling  very  much  as  if  we  had 
been  intruders. 

As  we  passed  through  the  yard  toward  the 
garden,  where  the  flowers  bloomed  attractively, 
we  saw  sitting  on  a  bench  in  the  sunshine  an 
old  man,  silent  and  very  thoughtful.  A  small 
basket  of  fruit  was  beside  him,  in  the  grass, 
and  Mrs.  Perrin,  taking  it  up,  exclaimed, 
"  Why,  Mr.  Furniss,  where  in  the  world  did 
you  get  such  beautiful  apples  ?"  He  had  not 
seemed  to  notice  us  till  then,  and  a  slow  smile 
broke  over  his  face  as  he  said,  "  I  brought 
them  from  home,  Mrs.  Perrin,  in  the  hope  that 
Annette  would  like  them,  but  she  says  she 


MA  KB  i  ED,    NOT    MATED.         285 

don't  eat  apples  any  more ;  so  it  appears  nothing 
I  can  do  will  please  anybody." 

"  Hi !  hi !  do  n't  say  that,  Mr.  Furniss,  now 
this  basket  of  apples  would  please  me  right 
well,  and  if  you  will  go  home  with  me  I  will 
fill  it  up  with  another  sort." 

The  old  man  looked  solemn  again ;  he  might 
as  well  walk  along  toward  town  ;  he  could  n't 
do  her  any  good  that  he  knew  of;  Annette 
had  not  come  down  stairs  to  see  him,  though 
he  had  walked  so  far  to  see  her ;  and  ho 
continued,  "  Well,  it 's  no  matter ;  I  shall  soon 
be  out  of  the  way;  I  am  old  and  worth 
less." 

"  So  be  I  old,"  replied  Mrs.  Perrin  ;  "  but  I 
am  not  worthless,  nor  no  more  be  you." 

The  old  man  smiled  again;  and  seeing 
Henry  busy  in  the  garden  we  went  forward  — 
Rose  and  I  —  to  join  him,  leaving  the  two  elder 
people  to  conclude  their  conversation  at  leisure. 
Mr.  Henry  Graham  showed  us  through  the 
grounds,  gathering  flowers  for  us,  and  explain 
ing  many  things  about  horticulture  which  wre 
had  not  known. 

"But   it   costs   you   so   much  pains,"  said 


286         MAKRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

Rosalie,  looking  about  the  plats,  and  avenues, 
that  were  kept  so  nicely. 

"  Yes,  but  work  is  the  best  thing  for  me  ;  I 
must  keep  busy;"  and  with  an  energy  that 
had  in  it  something  irritable,  desponding,  and 
nervous,  he  resumed  his  tasks,  saying  in  an 
under  tone,  "Thank  Heaven  for  the  consola 
tions  of  work  !" 

Mrs.  Perrin  joined  us  now;  she  had  Mr. 
Furniss  with  her ;  and  it  seemed  to  me  that 
he  looked  considerably  younger  than  when  I 
first  saw  him  sitting  on  the  stone  bench.  Mi's. 
Perrin  told  us  that  if  we  preferred  to  go  home 
by  the  nearest  route  our  ways  would  be 
separate ;  she  would  like  to  have  us  accom 
pany  her,  but  she  thought  it  right  to  tell  us  this, 
as  we  did  n't  know  the  ways  so  well  as  she. 

"  I  do  n't  think  I  do  know  the  ways  quite  so 
well,"  said  Rose,  archly ;  and  she  beckoned 
me  to  follow  her. 

We  were  soon  in  the  woods,  for  Rose  pro 
tested  that  she  felt  inclined  to  explore  the 
country,  and  preferred  to  return  by  a  cir 
cuitous  route.  The  dry  leaves  made  a  rustling 
beneath  our  feet;  the  undergrowth  was  thick 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.        287 

here  and  there ;  and  Rose  said  if  we  should 
get  lost  it  would  complete  a  day's  odd  adven 
tures.  We  wandered  about  so  long,  gathering 
flowers,  and  talking  of  our  life  at  Uncle 
Peter's,  and  of  the  "  example  "  he  had  made 
of  himself,  at  which  she  laughed  a  great  deal, 
that  I  became  tired,  for  I  was  never  very 
strong,  and  we  sat  down  on  a  mossy  log 
together. 

It  was  cloudy,  and  almost  twilight  in  the 
woods,  now,  and  I  said  we  had  better  go 
home ;  but  Rose  demurred ;  she  did  not  be 
lieve  it  would  rain  ;  she  was  sure  it  would 
be  a  good  day  to  us  ;  thus  far  she  had  had 
nothing  to  regret,  except  our  failure  to  see 
that  exemplary  young  man,  Doctor  Graham ; 
and  I  too  wished  in  my  heart  we  had  seen 
him,  for  his  smile  lingered  in  my  memory, 
and  I  felt  that  I  would  like  if  possible  to 
correct  the  unfavorable  impression  which  I 
was  sure  I  had  left  upon  his  mind.  Not  a 
straw  cared  Rose  what  notions  he  had  carried 
home  of  her ;  but  what  was  to  her  a  jest,  was 
a  serious  matter  to  me. 

"  My  sentimental   sister,"  she  said,  seeing 


288        MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

that  I  looked  thoughtful,  and  playfully  but 
vainly  trying  to  make  dimples  in  my  cheek, 
"rest  here  a  little  while,  and  I  will  go  and' 
see  if  I  can't  find  a  flower  like  one  I  have  lost, 
and  then  we  will  go  home." 

I  said  I  wrould  wait,  but  she  must  not  be 
long  absent ;  and  leaning  my  head  against  a 
tree  listened  to  a  bird  that  sung  in  the 
branches  above  me  ;  it  was  a  quiet  mono 
tonous  song,  in  keeping  with  the  silence  and 
the  dusky  shadows.  Presently  I  was  aware 
that  the  notes  grew  fainter ;  the  bird  was 
flying  away  I  thought,  and  all  was  a  blank 
till  I  awoke  from  sleep,  startled  and  afraid. 
Hose  had  not  returned,  and  the  wood  was 
darker  than  when  she  left  me. 

I  could  not  tell  how  long  I  had  slept;  it 
might  have  been  a  great  while,  and  fright 
made  me  think  it  had  been.  Rose  must  be 
lost,  was  my  first  thought ;  and,  throwing 
down  my  carefully  gathered  flowers,  I  started 
in  search  of  her.  Now  and  then  I  called,  but 
only  echo  answered  ;  the  woods  grew  gloomier 
every  minute  ;  it  would  rain  presently,  and  I 
could  not  tell  which  way  I  was  going.  If  I 


MAKKIED,    NOT    MATED.        289 

had  paused  to  reason  I  should  not  have  been 
alarmed  so  much  ;  but  I  did  not ;  I  was  lost, 
and  Rose  was  lost ;  it  was  near  night,  and 
raining ;  these  were  all  the  facts  I  knew.  I 
thought  once  I  heard  the  bark  of  a  dog,  and 
the  largh  of  Rosalie,  but  listening  I  heard 
only  the  rustling  of  winds  through  the  trees, 
and  the  p),.  shing  of  large  drops  of  rain. 

I  could  aot  restrain  my  tears ;  Rose  was 
nowhere  to  be- found,  and  for  her  I  cried  more 
than  for  my  golf.  All  at  once  I  crossed  a  foot 
path —  hesitated  a  moment — -struck  into  it- — • 
and  dashed  forward  with  all  my  might. 

The  rain  fell  heavily  now,  and  I  could  have 
heard  nothing  but  the  roar  in  the  woods  if  1 
had  listened  ever  so  long ;  so,  with  the  thunder 
howling  behind  me,  and  the  lightning  flashing 
right  it  my  face,  I  hurried  on  and  on.  It 
seemed  to  look  a  little  lighter  before  me,  and 
lighter  yet.  I  was  not  mistaken  ;  there  was  a 
small  clearing  in  the  woods ;  I  saw  a  log  house 
now,  and  the  smoke  crowding  its  way  up  into 
the  rain.  I  leaped  the  low  fence  almost  at  a 
bound,  and  paused  beneath  a  shed  that  kept 
dry  a  huge  brick  oven,  and,  a  little  more 
13 


290         MAR  nil-:.]),    NOT    MATED, 

calm,  surveyed  the  premises.  A  large  kettle* 
which  had  probably  been  boiling  at  the  com 
mencement  of  the  rain,  stood  steaming  a  little 
apart  from  the  door;  some  chickens  were 
holding  a  social  meeting  under  the  shed,  and 
one  cock,  defying  the  storm,  stood  boldly  out, 
but  with  tail  sadly  out  of  trim,  and  dripping 
together.  He  elevated  his  head,  to  atone  for 
the  disarray  of  his  feathers,  and  crowed  right  in 
the  face  of  the  thunder,  evidently  confident 
that  he  had  made  the  loudest  noise.  A  pig 
pen  ornamented  one  corner  of  the  door-yard, 
and  a  dozen  squealing  inmates  were  either 
elevated  on  their  hind  legs  and  enjoying  the 
spectacle  of  the  storm,  or  putting  their  noses 
through  the  cracks  of  their  well-ventilated 
habitation  ;  and  a  long-legged  colt,  to  be  com 
pensated  for  the  pitiless  peltings  he  was  obliged 
to  endure,  leaned  his  head  far  over  the  fence 
and  gnawed  the  bark  from  a  young  apple  tree. 
A  glance  round  sufficed  for  these  observations, 
and  they  were  just  completed,  when  a  great 
brindled  dog  placed  himself,  erect,  in  the  open 
door,  and  barked  at  me  furiously.  The  noise 
brought  two  children  to  the  door,  and  a  woman 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.        291 

whom  I  at  once  recognized  as  my  friend  Mrs. 
Muggins. 

"  By  the  living  hokeys !"  she  exclaimed, 
"  if  here  ain't  one  of  the  young  gals  from  old 
Pete's.  Come  in,  little  gal,  you  look  like  a 
drownded  rat !" 

She  turned  me  around,  viewing  me  from 
head  to  foot  —  dripping  hair,  muddy  stock 
ings,  garments  wringing  wet  —  and  the  more 
she  looked  the  more  her  surprise  was  manifest. 
She  hadn't  done  justice  to  her  subject,  she 
seemed  to  think,  in  her  first  exclamations,  and 
strove  to  make  what  amends  she  might  by 
new  ejaculations:  "Peter,  the  Hermit!  you 
look  like  rag-shag-and-bobtail  ;  now  I'll  be 
darned  if  you  do  n't !  Lord,  help  me  I  I  never, 
since  I  was  knee-high  to  a  bull -frog,  did  see 
such  a  sight ;  it 's  as  good  as  to  go  to  the 
museum  ;  Mart,  look  at  her  !"  But  the  indi 
vidual  thus  addressed  no  sooner  complied  with 
her  request,  than,  apprehensive,  perhaps,  that 
my  maiden  modesty  would  be  outraged,  she 
retorted,  "  You  are  smart,  ain't  you  ?  Now 
histe  yourself  up  the  ladder  with  you,  and  let 
me  take  these  things  off  before  she  gets  her 


202       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

death  of  cold.  I  knowed  a  woman  oncet,  and 
she  had  a  daughter  that  just  changed  her 
shoes:  she  had  been  used  to  rearing  lioss- 
hide,  and  she  put  on  a  pair  of  dog-skin  ones. 
They  had  a  great  big  dog,  and  his  name  was 
Hover,  though  they  called  him  Rove  mostly, 
and  one  morning  they  found  him  dead,  and 
they  allowed  how 't  he  'd  been  poisoned ;  it 
appeared  like  they  couldn't  give  him  up,  and 
the  man  that  buried  the  dog  after  he  was 
dead,  took  and  tanned  his  skin,  he  did,  and 
made  a  pair  of  shoes  for  Annie  —  that  was  the 
girl's  name  —  and  the  first  time  she  put  them 
on  she  took  cold  and  died,  she  did.  She  had 
been  used  to  wearing  hoss-hide,  she  had ;  she 
was  going  to  a  night  meeting ;  some  said  she 
was  engaged  to  marry  Low  Dartfoot  —  do  you 
know  Low  Dartfoot? — any  way,  he  took  it 
awful  hard  when  she  died.  They  said  some 
of  them  could  n't  bear  to  hear  the  name  of  the 
dog  afterwards ;  he  looked  almost  just  like 
our  dog,  the  dog  did,  only  he  was  about  as 
big  again,  and  his  tail  wasn't  half  as  long  as 
Spot's  is,  and  he  was  as  black  as  he  could  be, 
and  Spot  is  spotted,  and  he  had  white  paws, 


MAKKIED,    NOT    MATED.       293 

he  had ;  some  said  they  was  afeard  of  him  as 
they  would  be  of  a  wolf;  it  was  just  before 
we  were  married  that  she  died." 

Mart,  who  was  about  half-way  up  the  ladder, 
seemed  at  this  point  overcome  with  admiration 
at  the  colloquial  powers  displayed  by  his  wife, 
and  the  easy  gracefulness  with  which  she  gave 
me  entertainment,  and  looking  back,  fondly 
said,  "  You  are  one  of  'em ;  some  fellers  has 
got  a  wife  that  has  a  tongue  that 's  fast  at  one 
eend,  but  I'll  be  dod-blasted,  your  'n  is  hung 
in  the  middle  and  runs  at  both  eends  !" 

The  pleased  tone,  and  charmed  look  that 
accompanied  it,  quite  took  the  edge  off  from 
any  severity  the  speech  might  have  otherwise 
possessed  ;  and-  Rachel,  feeling  complimented, 
replied,  that  if  she  knew  where  to  find  a  good 
kettle-maker  she  would  have  enough  brass 
taken  out  of  her  husband's  face  to  make  a 
forty  or  fifty  gallon  one,  and  then  he  would 
have  enough  left  to  stare  white  folks  out  of 
countenance,  he  would. 

"Go  it,  shoes!"  retorted  Mart;  and  then, 
addressing  me,  as  I.  supposed,  he  said,  "  If  I 
had  her  to  get  over  again,  she  Jd  never  be  got 
-that's  all." 


294:       MAKKIED,    NOT    MATED. 

He  Lad  disappeared  in  tlie  little  loft,  but 
Rachd  elevated  her  voice  so  that  he  might  be 
benefitted  as  well  as  I,  while  she  said  she  had 
married  him  chiefly  to  get  rid  of  him,  for  there 
was  no  other  way  to  do  it. 

Such  was  the  pleasant  banter,  as  the  parties 
seemed  to  regard  it,  that  passed  while  I 
exchanged  my  wet  garments  for  the  dry  go-to- 
meeting  ones,  rarely,  if  ever,  used  for  their 
nominal  purpose  of  Mrs.  Muggins. 

"  How  did  you  happen  in  granmam's 
woods,  any  how  ?"  asked  my  hostess. 

I  explained  all :  the  visit  to  Mrs.  Perrin, 
our  parting  with  her  at  Mrs.  Graham's,  and 
ramble  in  the  woods  where  Rose,  as  I  appre 
hended,  was  lost. 

This  childish  fear  of  mine  caused  my  friends 
great  amusement ;  and  Mart  put  his  hat  on 
the  head  of  Spot,  as  some  excuse  for  his  laugh 
ter,  and  Rachel  said  she  was  giggling  at  the 
rain,  but  she  shortly  corrected  herself,  and  said 
it  was  at  her  own  thoughts,  and  she  wasn't 
thinking  at  all. 

Aware  however  of  my  real  anxiety,  they  sub 
dued  their  mirth,  and  assured  me  there  was  no 
possibility  of  Rose  being  lost,  and  Mrs.  Mug- 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       295 

gins  diverted  me  by  asking  if  I  did  n't  think 
the  old  man  Furniss  and  Mrs.  Perrin  would 
make  a  match.  She  believed  it,  she  said,  for 
she  onct  heard  Mrs.  Perrin  say  she  was  sorry 
for  the  old  man,  and  we  all  knew  pity  was 
kin  to  love ;  arid  she  descanted  at  length  on  the 
probabilities  of  their  happiness,  asseverating 
over  and  again,  that,  for  her  part,  she  would 
not  lay  a  straw  in  their  way.  Some  folks,  she 
said,  thought  it  was  a  dreadful  thing  for  old 
folks  to  marry,  but  as  far  as  she  was  con 
cerned,  she  thought  that  wrhen  the  children 
were  all  grown  up,  it  was  n't  nobody's  busi 
ness. 

Mr.  Muggins  told  me  not  to  fret  while  I 
had  a  ruff  over  me,  and  said  that  as  soon  as 
the  rain  should  stop  falling  in  pitch-forks,  he 
would  bridle  his  colt  and  take  me  home,  upon 
which  I  grew  more  content,  and  became 
more  interested  in  my  new  acquaintances  than 
I  had  previously  been.  It  was  twilight  now, 
and  having  made  a  log-heap  lire,  Martin  put 
the  table-cloth  about  his  shoulders,  and  went 
forth  to  milk  the  cow,  and  Mrs,  Muggins, 
rocking  the  cradle  with  one  foot,  and  having 


296         MAKKIED,    NOT    MATED. 

two  babies  on  her  knees,  entertained  me  with 
a  continuation  of  her  accumulated  gossip. 

"Did  you  see  anything  of  his  reverence, 
Staff?  I  suppose  he  would  like  to  have  me 
say  doctor,  but  I  won't ;  well,  I  tell  you,  he 
is  a  proudy  ;  he  used  to  be  so  dreadful  high 
tempered,  that  grandmam  herself,  was  afeard 
of  him.  I  call  Mrs.  Graham  grandmam  be 
cause,  you  see,  she  raised  me.  Well,  I  do  n't 
know  as  I  ought  to  say  anything,  but  them 
that's  lived  in  places,  finds  out  a  heap  of 
things  that  them  do  n't  know  that  hain't  lived 
in  places.  E~ow,  a  stranger  wouldn't  think, 
to  see  grandmam,  that  she  was  the  awfulest 
tyrant  and  scold  that  ever  lived;  but,  I  tell 
you,  you  had  better  believe  she  is.  She  used 
to  make  Jim  jump  before  a  broomstick ;  he  's 
dead,  poor  cretur ;  he  was  a  fool  —  no,  I 
oughtn't  to  say  that  —  he's  dead  and  gone 
now.  Henry  got  him  the  nicest  sort  of  a 
coffin,  and  put  flowers  about  him,  and  the 
preacher  said,  at  the  grave,  he  had  been  a 
blind  little  one,  or  something  like  that.  I 
thought  he  was  a'most  too  flowery  in  his 
remarks,  but  some  liked  it.  Grandmam  never 


M  A  it  it  i  E  D  ,    NOT    MATED.       297 

shed  a  tear,  but  Henry  took  on  like  he  was 
crazy;  I  told  him  it  wasn't  like  as  if  the  boy 
had  had  good  sense  —  oh,  I  forgot! — well, 
I  didn't  say  that;  it's  no  difference  what  I 
said;  them  that's  been  in  places  shouldn't 
tell  everything  they  have  seen  in  places. 
Henry  is  a  man  that  sees  his  own  trouble ; 
he  calls  his  own  little  boy  James,  I  always 
thought,  in  honor  of  the  fool;  oh,  I  didn't 
mean  nothing  at  all  —  things  slip  off  a  body's 
tongue  sometimes ;"  and  she  shook  her  head,  as 
she  continued,  "  Henry  Graham  sees  trouble ; 
if  their  walls  had  ears  they  could  tell  things ; 
I  foreseed  them  when  he  married  his  beautiful 
wife;  I  knew  we  should  see  what  we  should 
see.  It's  no  use  talking,"  she  added,  after  a 
moment's  silence,  "about  things  that  's  none 
of  a  body's  business,  but  if  two  women  that  I 
know  of  were  where  the  dogs  would  n't  bite 
them,  I  would  n't  be  the  one  to  cry."  And 
then,  "  Do  you  believe  there  is  any  such  thing 
as  love  ?"  she  asked  me  very  abruptly.  On 
my  replying  "yes,"  she  proceeded:  "Well, 
some  marries  and  do  n't  know  what  it  is,  and 
that  is  the  reason  that  some  is  unhappy — 1 
13* 


298      M  A  K  ii  i  E  D  ,    NO  T    MATED. 

am  just  fool  enough  to  believe  that.  But 
there  is  one  wuss  thing  than  to  marry  a  man 
you  don't  love;"  and  having  waited  for  my 
curiosity  to  reach  its  climax,  she  added  — 
"  to  love  one  you  do  n't  marry,  at  the  same 
time."  I  said  I  hoped  there  were  few  such 
cases.  "I  know  one  woman  who  did  that," 
emphatically  observed  Rachel,  "and  her  name 
is  Annette  Graham ;  she  was  in  love  with 
Staff,  and  she  married  the  tother  one.  Staff 
wouldn't  have  her,  and  so  she  bit  off  her  nose 
to  spite  her  face :  that  is  about  my  notion 
of  things  out  thar.  When  she  first  come  to 
Woodside,  things  went  on  ever  so  nice  ;  a  new 
broom  sweeps  clean,  you  know ;  they  rode 
about  in  their  carriage,  and  it  was  all  'My 
dear,'  and  cmy  love ;'  but  I  knowed  it  could  n't 
last,  cause  there  was  no  foundation  ;  and  after 
awhile  the  carriage  was  n't  used  no  more,  and 
Annette  sat  all  day  in  her  room,  and  was  sick 
like  ;  and  grandmam  growled  all  day  in  her 
den ;  and  Henry  sent  away  the  gardener,  and 
took  to  hoeing,  mostly  hisself;  it  appeared 
like  he  worked  to  keep  hisself  company,  for 
his  wife  didn't  speak  to  him  week  in  and 


MAiiiiiEi),    NOT    MATED.        299 

week  out ;  and  then  Nellie  was  born,  and  we 
all  thought  may  be  Annette  would  be  more 
natural  like  ;  but  she  took  no  more  notice  of 
it  than  she  would  of  a  cat,  at  first ;  but  when 
the  baby  began  to  look  like  her  father,  it  ap 
peared  like  she  hated  the  sight  of  her,  and 
when  she  was  no  more  than  three  years  old, 
Nellie  would  sit  in  the  garden,  or  other  place, 
alone  all  day ;  it  seemed  like  as  if  she  had  an 
old  head  on  young  shoulders.  Oh,  she  's  the 
best  little  thing !" 

I  had  noticed  her  meek,  patient  look,  and 
sweet  smile,  and  said  so. 

"  Yes,"  said  Rachel,  "  she  smiles  like  her 
Uncle  Staff,  and  he  smiles  as  sweet  as  an 
angel,  though  he  has  a  divel  in  him  as  big  as 
an  ox  ;  and  yet  I  do  n't  blame  him  so  much 
sometimes,  nuther;  they're  just  like  ile  and 
water,  all  of  them  :  they  won  't  mix.  Henry, 
he  takes  to  work,  and  has  a  plainer  nater, 
somehow  ;  and  Annette  was  proud  and  high 
flying  at  first,  and  I  guess  she  thought  some 
things  would  make  up  for  others  ;  but  you 
can't  make  a  silk  pus  out  of  sow's  ear,  and 
there  ain't  no  use  in  trying;  and  you  couldn't 


300        MAEKIED,    NOT    MATED. 

make  nothing  of  Henry,  but  Henry,  if  you 
Lad  put  a  king's  crown  on  his  head.  Oh,  I 
have  hearn  that  woman  say  things  to  that  man, 
that  she  might  just  as  well  have  put  a  knife 
into  his  heart ;  this  was  along  before  the  baby 
was  born."  She  lowered  her  voice  to  a 
whisper  as  she  said  these  last  words,  and 
added  in  a  loud  tone,  by  way  of  explanation  to 
the  children,  "  before  the  doctor-man  brought 
little  Jim  to  her." 

"  Did  the  doctor  man  bring  us  to  you, 
Rache  ?"  asked  Jackson,  his  curiosity  excited 
by  his  mother's  concluding  observation. 

"  You  musn  't  ask  questions,"  she  answered. 

"  I  say,  Rache,  if  you  do  n't  tell  me,  I  '11  set 
Spot  onto  you." 

Mrs.  Muggins  whispered  me  that  she  did  n't 
mean  her  children  should  know  anything,  and 
she  thought  it  better  that  they  should  believe 
a  whopping  big  lie  than  know  anything  ;  after 
which  she  stated  to  Master  Jackson,  that  an 
old  man  with  a  blanket  on  his  shoulders,  let 
him  down  out  of  the  sky  in  a  bucket,  by  a 
rope  a  thousand  miles  long,  to  which  the 
young  gentleman  replied  :  "  Yes,  in  a  horn  ;" 


MA  EH  IK  i>,    NOT    MATED.        301 

and  added  presently,  for  lie  seemed  disposed 
to  trace  things  to  first  causes,  as  all  children 
are  ;  "  where  did  tothers  come  from  ?" 

"  I  found  one  of  them  in  an  old  hollow 
stump  in  the  woods,"  said  Rachel ;  "  and 
tother,  the  ugliest  old  critter  that  ever  lived 
in  the  world  brought  to  me  one  midnight 
when  the  lightning  was  going  faster  than  a 
hoss  could  trot." 

"  How  was  she  ugly,  Raehe  ?"  asked  the 
boy,  enforcing  his  mother's  attention  by  a 
sharp  blow  with  a  stick  :  "  tell  me,  Rache,  tell 
me  ;  how  was  she  ugly  ?" 

"  Oh,  Lord  !  how  you  do  torment  a  body ! 
She  was  ugly,  cause  she  had  eyes  as  big  as 
the  moon  ;  and  cause  her  mouth  was  a  good 
deal  like  yourn,  and  cause  she  had  a  body 
like  a  snake,  and  crawled,  and  was  speckled 
and  spotted,  only  her  face  and  hands,  and  they 
was  white." 

"  Oh,  mommy,  was  n't  she  ugly  !"  exclaimed 
the  boy,  frightened  into  something  like  filial 
affection ;  "  if  ever  she  comes  again,  let  me 
see  her;  didn't  she  skeer  you?  I'll  knock 
her  down  with  an  axe,  and  I  '11  shoot  her  with 


302  M  A  K  K  1  ED,      N  O  T       M  AT  E  D  . 

a  pop  gun ;  I  '11  shoot  her  to  death,  I  will ; 
and  I  '11  kill  her,  and  I  '11  chuck  her  into  the 
pond,"  and  brandishing  his  stick  he  rushed 
out  to  do  battle  with  the  old  cow,  or  the  hens, 
or  the  pig-pen. 

"It  appears  to  me,"  said  Rachel,  musingly, 
"  to  be  sure  I  hain't  got  no  book  learning  nor 
nothing,  and  I  may  be  mistakend ;  but,  it 
appears  like  some  folks  are  just  pizen  to 
others,  and  the  more  they  are  together,  the 
more  pizen  they  are.  I  've  heard  them  say 
that  there  was  some  things  that  was  good  in 
themselves,  and  other  things  that  was  good  to 
themselves,  that  when  they  was  put  together 
and  mixed  up,  made  rank  pizen  —  I  heard 
Doctor  Snakeroot  say  that ;  and  onct  I  heard 
a  preacher  say  perty  much  the  same  thing ; 
and  often  when  I  ?ve  seen  grandmam's  folks, 
I've  thought  of  that.  Grandmam,  you  see, 
was  rich  in  the  first  place,  and  a  real  gentle 
man  that  was  poor  as  a  church  mouse  married 
her,  and  brought  her  to  "Woodside ;  and,  for 
the  most  part,  he  left  her  there,  while  he 
travelled  about  all  over  the  world,  as  you  may 
eay.  I  suppose  he  had  seen  almost  everything 


M  A  K  K  I  E  D         NO  T      M  A  T  E  D  .          303 

that  is  on  this  earth  ;  but  he  was  restless,  like, 
and  took  sick  of  a  fever  and  died ;  and  the 
children  seemed  to  take  half  after  him  and 
half  after  her,  and  not  to  be  right  no  way. 
The  youngest  of  'em  was  a  perfect  fool  — 
powerful  weak  in  his  jints,  and  no  better  in 
his  head.  Poor  Jim  !  he  had  a  mighty  fine 
coffin. 

"Well,"  Rachel  continued,  "whatever  it 
was  fust,  or  whatever  it  was  last,  you  see  how 
it  is  now ;  the  old  woman's  turned  bear,  and 
Nette  has  turned  to  stone,  and  Staff,  they  say, 
is  like  his  father;  and  though  he  seems  so 
proud  and  hateful,  I've  seen  him  try  to  make 
of  Hen,  and  his  mother,  too ;  but  it  appeared 
they  wouldn't  be  made  of,  and  something  in 
him  would  n't  let  him  make  of  them  long ; 
and  some  times,  it  appeared,  like  lie  was,  was 
ashamed  of  them.  Poor  Henry !  he  lias  more 
goodness  in  him  than  twenty  Staffs  ;  but  I 
don't  know  how  it  was,  something  ailded  him, 
that  he  couldn't  be  one  thing  nor  tother. 

CD 

And  now,  Nellie  has  come  into  this  neck 
of  woods,  and  it  appears  like  it  is  only  to  suffer; 
she  minds  little  Jim  as  good  and  motherly  as 


304:       M  A  R  ii  i  E  D  ,    NOT    MATED. 

can  be,  and  never  troubles  her  mother  from 
week's  end  to  another ;  I  've  always  thought 
she  would  be  took,  she  is  so  good ;  but,  may 
be,  the  baby  will  go  fust.  They  say  he  likes 
cow's  milk  —  queer,  ain't  it?  Fool  like,"  con 
cluded  the  little  woman,  "I  have  been  saying 
what  was  none  of  my  business  ;  but  them  that 
are  in  a  house  as  I  was  in  that  house,  learn  a 
heap  of  things  that  outsiders  do  n't  know 
nothing  about ;"  and  rising,  she  tied  the  baby 
to  a  chair  with  her  husband's  pocket  handker 
chief,  and  shaking  off  the  other  child,  told  him 
to  scratch  for  hisself  a  time,  while  she  began 
to  prepare  the  supper. 

"  That's  the  way  !"  exclaimed  Martin,  set 
ting  down  his  milk  pail :  "  she  has  been  a 
gabbing  all  this  while ;  she  gabs  more,  she 
does,  than  any  woman  in  four  states.  !N"ow, 
just  see  at  her,  how  long  she  will  be  getting 
the  grub ;  I  wish  I  had  my  courting  days  to 
come  over  again." 

I  can't  explain  by  what  process  of  inter 
pretation,  but  the  inference  I  drew  was  alto 
gether  favorable  to  the  excellent  qualities  of 
Mrs.  Muggins;  in  short,  that  Mr.  Martin  Mug- 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       305 

gins  would  not  exchange,  barter,  sell,  or  other 
wise  convey  away  Mrs.  Rachel  Muggins,  for 
any  other  woman  in  the  world. 

Rachel  replied,  that  she  wished  to  goodness 
their  courting  days  was  to  come  over,  and  she 
would  chuck  a  turnip  in  his  mouth  when  he 
teased  her  to  say  "Yes,"  for  that  he  would 
have  to  take  "  No  "  for  an  answer,  that  was  as 
sure  as  rolling  off  a  log,  if  she  had  it  to  say 
agen  ;  which,  also,  being  interpreted,  signified 
that  Mrs.  Rachel  Muggins  would  be  exceed 
ingly  averse  to  the  aforesaid  barter,  sale,  or 
conveyance. 

"  He  is  always  just  so  funny,"  said  she, 
when  Martin  had  gone  down  to  the  brook  to 
sharpen  her  butcher-knife  on  some  accom 
modating  stone. 

"May  be  we  would  not  have  got  along  so 
well,  but  you  see  we  had  not  the  first  red 
cent  to  begin  with,  and  it  was,  Root,  pig,  or 
die  —  that 's  the  way  him  and  me  begun ;"  and 
she  looked  proudly  about  her  house,  as  though 
all  her  ambition  had  been  amply  gratified. 

Against  the  rough  wall  hung  a  side-saddle, 
which  she  said  was  a  weddin'  gift  from  grand 


306       MAHEIED,    NOT    MATED. 

mam  ;  some  pegs,  and  an  oak  chest  which  he 
had  made  —  he  was  so  handy  —  held  the 
clothes  of  herself  and  children ;  a  bedstead, 
which  she  said  cost  five  silver  dollars,  a  table, 
some  chairs,  and  a  few  shelves,  containing  the 
Bible,  hynin-book,  a  volume  of  famous  murder 
cases,  and  the  dishes,  constituted  most  of  the 
furniture. 

Martin  speedily  returned,  and  by  way  of 
thanks,  Rachel  told  him  she  thought  he  had 
stayed  to  make  a  knife  ;  and  he  replied,  if  I 
would  just  see  at  her,  now.  I  'd  find  how  lazy 
and  good-for-nothing  she  was.  Having  thus 
called  my  attention  to  the  quickness  and  in 
dustry  of  his  better  half,  Mr.  Muggins  threw 
himself  on  the  bed  to  sleep  an  hour  or  two,  as 
he  said,  while  he  was  waiting  for  the  grub. 

The  rain  had  ceased  falling,  and  the  scent 
of  the  near  onion  bed  came  on  the  breeze  to 
the  open  door,  where  lay  the  wet  and  shaggy 
Spot.  The  baby  folded  itself  together  over 
the  handkerchief  with  which  it  was  tied  to 
the  chair,  and  was  quiet ;  the  second  boy 
mounted  his  father's  foot  and  rode  to  grand- 
niam  Graham's,  that  being,  no  doubt,  the  only 


M  A  R  K  I  E  D,      NOT     MATED.  307 

point  embraced  in  his  geography ;  and  Rachel, 
having  made  two  or  three  dives  and  pitches, 
gave  the  table  a  push  with  one  foot  which 
landed  it  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  rattled 
down  some  knives  forks  and  tea-plates,  flung 
up  the  chairs  in.  a  twinkling,  snuffed  the 
candle  with  her  fingers,  carried  the  blazing 
wick  to  the  door  and  threw  it  out,  and  asked  the 
second  boy,  still  furiously  riding  towards  grand- 
mam's,  to  pull  his  father's  nose,  by  way  of 
announcing  that  supper  was  ready. 

I  wrould  have  been  glad  to  go  home,  but 
they  would  not  hear  of  it  until  I  had  partaken 
of  their  fare.  A  substantial  meal  of  bacon, 
eggs,  milk,  and  tea,  was  spread  before  me,  to 
which  I  should  have  done  more  justice,  per 
haps,  but  for  my  uneasiness  about  Rose.  I 
feared  she  was  wandering  about  the  woods, 
and  felt  that  it  was  wicked  to  eat  or  smile 
while  her  fate  remained  unsolved. 

I  felt  but  little  less  wretched  when,  at  last, 
Mr.  Muggins  took  down  the  side-saddle  from 
its  peg,  and  said  he  would  carry  me  to  old 
Throck's  in  the  crack  of  a  cow's  thumb.  The 
donkey  which  I  had  seen  Mrs.  Muggins  ride, 


308  M  A  R  II  I  E  D,     NOT     M  A  T  E  D  . 

and  the  colt  that  ate  the  apple-tree,  were  soon 
led  beside  a  stump,  and,  dressed  in  the  ill- 
fitting  clothes  of  Rachel,  and  with  my  own  in 
a  wet  bundle  on  the  saddle-horn,  I  rode  away, 
Mrs.  Muggins  having  invited  me  some  fifty 
times  to  visit  her  again,  and  saying  to  Mr. 
Muggins  she  hoped  that  was  the  last  she 
should  ever  see  of  him. 

"  My  wife,"  said  Martin,  "  speaking  very 
loud,  so  that  she  might  hear  him,  "  sours  all 
the  vinegar  in  the  neighborhood  ;"  and  with 
these  parting  salutations,  the  loving  couple 
separated  for  an  hour. 

A  woful  picture  I  made  as  we  rode  into  the 
broad  light  at  the  door  of  Uncle  Peter's,  "  ac- 
coutered"  as  I  was,  and  with  my  red  eyes 
and  anxious  face. 

A  merry  laugh  wras  the  greeting  in  reserve 
ior  me.  Rose  had  been  home  for  hours,  her 
dress  as  neat  and  orderly  as  when  we  set  out, 
and  her  face  radiant  with  a  beauty  that  I  had 
never  seen  in  it  before.  Uncle  Peter  said  I 
was  very  stupid  to  lose  myself  in  an  acre  of 
woodland,  and  Aunt  Sally  kissed  me,  when 
he  did  not  see  it,  and  told  me,  in  a  whisper,  I 


NOT    MATED.       309 


had  better  go  to  bed  ;  it  would  be  best  for 
myself,  she  thought  it  would  be  best  for  the 
good  nature  of  her  husband  ;  and  I  affected 
to  believe  her,  and  obeyed. 

"  Mrs.  Throckmorton,"  I  heard  him  say,  as  I 
left  the  room,  "  I  wish  you  would  repeat  my 
order  to  Westley." 

"What  order,  my  dear?  I  did  not  hear 
any." 

"  You  astonish  me,  Mrs.  Throckmorton  :  my 
order  about  the  easy-chair." 

"Oh,  I  believe  I  did  hear  it,"  said  Aunt 
Sally  ;  "  did  you  want  it  brought  up,  my 
love  ?" 

Now,  Uncle  Peter  had  no  easy-chair,  nor 
had  he  given  "Westley  any  orders  about  one, 
and  Aunt  Sally  knew  it,  nevertheless  she  Re 
lieved  she  had  heard  such  a  direction  ;  and  I 
heard  her  feebly  supporting  herself  along  the 
stair-case,  and  keeping  down  her  cough,  as 
she  went  in  search  of  the  myth. 

That  was  a  lonesome  night  to  me.  Hours, 
it  seemed,  I  lay,  striving  with  my  tears,  before 
Rose  joined  me.  What  could  she  be  about? 
and  why  did  she  not  come  to  tell  me  how  she 


308  M  A  K  It  T  V  I),     N  O  T     M  A  T  E  D  . 

and  the  colt  that  ate  the  apple-tree,  were  soon 
led  beside  a  stump,  and,  dressed  in  the  ill- 
fitting  clothes  of  Rachel,  and  with  my  own  in 
a  wet  bundle  on  the  saddle-horn,  I  rode  away, 
Mrs.  Muggins  having  invited  me  some  fifty 
times  to  visit  her  again,  and  saying  to  Mr. 
Muggins  she  hoped  that  was  the  last  she 
should  ever  see  of  him. 

"  My  wife,"  said  Martin,  "  speaking  very 
loud,  so  that  she  might  hear  him,  "  sours  all 
the  vinegar  in  the  neighborhood  ;"  and  with 
these  parting  salutations,  the  loving  couple 
separated  for  an  hour. 

A  woful  picture  I  made  as  we  rode  into  the 
broad  light  at  the  door  of  Uncle  Peter's,  "  ac- 
coutered"  as  I  was,  and  with  my  red  eyes 
and  anxious  face. 

A  merry  laugh  was  the  greeting  in  reserve 
lor  me.  Rose  had  been  home  for  hours,  her 
dress  as  neat  and  orderly  as  when  we  set  out, 
and  her  face  radiant  with  a  beauty  that  I  had 
never  seen  in  it  before.  Uncle  Peter  said  I 
was  very  stupid  to  lose  myself  in  an  acre  of 
woodland,  and  Aunt  Sally  kissed  me,  when 
he  did  not  see  it,  and  told  me,  in  a  whisper,  I 


CARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       309 

had  better  go  to  bed  ;  it  would  be  best  for 
myself,  she  thought  it  would  be  best  for  the 
good  nature  of  her  husband ;  and  I  affected 
to  believe  her,  and  obeyed. 

"  Mrs.  Throckmorton,"  I  heard  him  say,  as  I 
left  the  room,  "  I  wish  you  would  repeat  my 
order  to  Westley." 

"What  order,  my  dear?  I  did  not  hear 
any." 

"  You  astonish  me,  Mrs.  Throckmorton  :  my 
order  about  the  easy-chair." 

"Oh,  I  believe  I  did  hear  it,"  said  Aunt 
Sally ;  "  did  you  want  it  brought  up,  my 
love?" 

Now,  Uncle  Peter  had  no  easy-chair,  nor 
had  he  given  "Westley  any  orders  about  one, 
and  Aunt  Sally  knew  it,  nevertheless  she  Re 
lieved  she  had  heard  such  a  direction  ;  and  I 
heard  her  feebly  supporting  herself  along  the 
stair-case,  and  keeping  down  her  cough,  as 
she  went  in  search  of  the  myth. 

That  was  a  lonesome  night  to  me.  Hours, 
it  seemed,  I  lay,  striving  with  my  tears,  before 
Rose  joined  me.  What  could  she  be  about? 
and  why  did  she  not  come  to  tell  me  how  she 


312       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

Who  I  expected  to  see,  or  why  any  one  should 
be  there,  I  did  not  know.  If  the  dog  barked, 
I  was  awake,  and  if  Aunt  Sally  coughed,  ever 
so  faintly,  I  heard  it.  Rose,  I  thought  was 
much  awake,  too,  though  she  lay  quite  still, 
as  if  her  thoughts  were  sweeter  than  mine. '  I 
was  glad  when  the  morning  came,  but  I  could 
not  rid  myself  of  the  disagreeable  impression 
the  previous  day  had  left. 

"  What  a  foolish  child  you  are  !"  Rose  said, 
when  I  told  her  of  my  emotion.  She  said 
"  child  "  again,  and  I  counted  how  much  I  was 
younger  than  she ;  it  was  not  two  years,  yet 
she  seemed  in  the  last  day  to  have  become  a 
woman,  while  I  was  still  a  child. 

Two  or  three  days  after  this  we  were  sitting 
in  the  shadow  of  a  tree,  near  the  main  road, 
Rose  reading,  and  I  fringing  napkins  for  our 
aunt,  when  Doctor  Graham,  who  was  riding 
in  his  handsome  phgeton,  accosted  us.  He 
had  heard  of  my  exposure  to  the  rain ;  hoped 
I  had  not  suffered ;  and  complimented  me  by 
saying  the  inquiry  was  superfluous.  He  smiled 
kindly  while  he  asked  his  questions,  but  the 
smiling  seemed  not  for  me.  To  Rose,  he  paid 


MAKRIED,    NOT    MATED.       313 

no  compliments,  but  when  he  spoke  to  her, 
there  was  a  deference  in  his  manner,  which 
outweighed  a  thousand  pretty  things,  though 
he  had  said  so  many  to  me. 

"  And  so  you  did  n't  think  my  flowers  worth 
coming  for,"  he  remarked  to  her. 

"  Oh  !"  she  replied,  ingenuously,   "I  forget 
all  about  them !" 

~This  was  not  very  flattering ;  yet  so  far  was 
he  from  being  offended  that  he  gave  her  a 
look  of  the  sweetest  tenderness,  and  asked  if 
he  should  have  the  pleasure  of  bringing  them. 
Oh,  no !  Rosalie  would  not  trouble  him ;  she 
would  go  to  Woodside  another  day.  Doctor 
Graham  was  often  in  the  wToods  with  his  dogs ; 
would  she  oblige  him  by  saying  when  she 
might  be  expected  f  She  was  no  authority  for 
herself,  just  then:  it  might  be  that  clay  —  it 
might  not  be  for  a  week.  If  she  found  her 
self  at  leisure,  his  carriage  was  quite  at  her 
service ;  he  only  regretted  that  it  would  not 
accommodate  a  third  person  —  bowing  to  me. 
I  was  very  grateful,  but  had  promised  Aunt 
Sally  to  fringe  her  napkins,  and  could  not 
have  gone,  though  it  had  been  twice  as  large. 
14 


314:  M  ,\  R  R  I  E  D  .      NOT      M  A  T  E  D . 

I  stumbled  upon  this  excuse,  though  I  see  not 
that  I  could  have  done  better. 

"Tell  Uncle  Peter/'  said  Rose,  "that  he 
must  pardon  my  running  away ;  I  have  an 
opportunity  of  bringing  him,  from  "Woodside, 
some  of  the  fairest  flowers  in  the  world." 

And  in  her  simple  dress,  ungloved  hands, 
ttnd  hood  of  blue,  she  was  sitting  beside  the 
proudest  man  in  all  that  part  of  the  country. 

I  remained  in  the  shadow,  at  my  task,  ay 
long  as  I  could  see  the  carriage,  and  the  feeling 
that  Rose  was  my  fond  sister  no  more,  came  to 
me,  if  not  so  turbulently,  at  least  as  solemnly, 
as  when  I  found  myself  alone  in  the  woods, 
and  heard  the  thunder  muttering  in  the 
darkness.  I  could  not  bear  to  stay  by 
myself,  and  returning  to  the  house,  repeated 
Rose's  apology  to  Uncle  Peter. 

"Bless  her,  what  a  dear  girl  she  is!"  he 
replied,  rubbing  his  hands,  assured  that  she 
was  gone  especially  for  his  pleasure. 

"  Some  has  one  way,  and  some  another,  of 
showing  a  good  heart,"  said  Aunt  Sally, 
meekly ;  "  now  Orpha  stays  at  home  and 
helps  me." 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.        315 

"  Poll !"  said  Uncle  Peter. 

"  Well,  you  know  if  I  did  n't  talk,  I  would  n't 
say  anything,"  replied  my  aunt,  deprecatingly, 
and  as  though  she  had  been  guilty  of  saying  a 
very  foolish  thing. 

I  bowed  my  head  lower  and  lower  over  my 
fringing,  that  Uncle  Peter  might  not  see  how 
much  I  was  affected  by  his  words,  and  Aunt 
Sally,  quietly  leaving  the  room,  beckoned  mo 
to  follow.  I  might,  she  said,  if  I  chose,  go 
over  to  Mrs.  Perrin's,  and  carry  her  a  tea 
cake ;  she  had  some  fresh  ones,  and  the  old 
lady  was  fond  of  thorn  ;  "But  don't  say  any 
thing,"  she  enjoined,  "  to  anybody ;"  by  which, 
I  understood,  that  I  must  not  tell  Uncle  Peter 
that  I  had  taken  Mrs.  Pen-in  the  cake.  She, 
good  woman,  thought  it  would  amuse  me,  but 
feared  to  do  good,  except  by  stealth,  lest  it 
might  displease  her  master. 

"  Mrs.  Throckmorton  !"   he  called. 

"  Yes,  my  love  !"  she  replied,  in  her  most 
obedient  tone. 

"  Just  look  round  the  house,  a  little,  and  see 
if  I  have  n't  dropped  my  handkerchief,"  ex 
claimed  the  authoritative  man. 


316       M  A  it  R  i  E  i) ,    NO  T    MATED. 

"  Yes,  darling,  right  away." 

I  dissuaded  her  with  a  motion  of  my  hand, 
and  went  down  myself.  I  searched  diligently, 
but  no  handkerchief  was  to  be  found.  She 
was  waiting  at  the  landing,  and  when  I  had 
communicated  my  want  of  success,  she  de 
scended  herself,  but  in  vain.  Uncle  Peter 
held  the  lost  handkerchief  in  his  hand  ;  but 
Aunt  Sally  attached  no  blame  to  him  ;  she 
blamed  herself  for  having  been  so  stupid  as 
not  to  look  about  a  little  up  stairs  before  going 
down.  The  exercise  and  the  worry  brought 
back  the  troublesome  cough ;  but  she  said  it 
was  nothing;  she  had  always  been  troubled 
with  it  more  or  less. 

It  was  a  lonesome  walk  to  Mrs.  Perrin's.  I 
missed  Rosalie  all  the  way;  it  seemed  that 
we  should  never  be  one  again  as  we  had  been 
when  we  played  in  the  sugar  camp. 

My  long  shadow  went  beside  me,  for  it  was 
near  sun-set,  but  my  thoughts,  which  had  been 
sombre  enough,  took  a  more  cheerful  color 
when  I  saw  Mrs.  Perrin's  windows  ablaze,  and 
the  smoke  drifting  from  the  chimney  in  fan 
tastic  curls;  it  was  as  if  nothing  melancholy 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.        317 

could  come  near  her  Lome.  I  saw  her  passing 
in  and  out,  and  up  and  down,  and  it  seemed 
to  me  that  she  looked  more  youthful  and 
happy  than  I  had  ever  seen  her.  She  wras 
spreading  the  table  in  the  porch,  and  I  saw  at 
once  that  it  was  in  holiday  style,  and  for  two. 
She  was  "  dreadfully  obleeged  for  the  tea- 
cake,"  she  said  ;  it  came  all  in  good  time  ; 
she  happened  to  have  an  old  friend,  a  very 
old  friend,  to  drink  tea  with  her ;  it  had  not 
been  his  intention  to  stay  so  long,  she  sup 
posed,  but  they  had  got  to  talking  about  old 
times,  and  the  first  thing  either  of  them  knew, 
it  wTas  sunset,  and  then  he  had  said  that  as  he 
had  hindered  her  so  long ;  he  would  try  and 
help  a  little,  and  he  was  accordingly  at  that 
very  moment  milking  her  cow  for  her,  which 
Mrs.  Perrin  was  sure  was  very  good  of  him. 

Presently  the  old  friend  made  his  appear 
ance,  steadily  carrying  the  milk  pail,  brim 
ming  full.  The  wo-Jbegone  look  which  I  had 
noticed  at  first,  seemed  to  have  been  unsettled 
in  his  face,  and  a  smile  was  struggling  for 
existence  there,  for  the  visitor  was  none  other 
than  Mr.  Furniss,  whom  I  had  last  seen  carry 


318        MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

ing  Mrs.  Perrin's  little  fruit-basket.  She  in 
troduced  him  by  saying  he  was  the  father  of 
Annette  Graham,  and  at  "Woodside  very  often; 
and  when  he  was  so  near,  she  did  n't  know  as 
it  was  any  harm  for  him  to  come  over  and  see 
her.  But  some  folks,  she  supposed,  could 
make  a  good  deal  of  talk  about  it,  if  they 
chose. 

"  Why,  Polly,"  said  Mr.  Furniss,  "  let  folks 
talk,  if  they  will :  we  are  both  of  age,  ain't 
we?" 

Mrs.  Perrin  seemed  not  very  well  to  like 
this  allusion  to  age.  "  As  for  being  so  terribly 
old,  I  have  known  older  folks  than  either  of  us 
begin  life  anew,  as  it  were."  And  as  she  said 
this,  she  suddenly  disappeared  into  the  cellar, 
with  her  milk  pail.  Mr.  Furniss  thought  she 
would,  perhaps,  be  afraid  there,  alone,  and  so 
followed  her  down,  which  I  thought  exceed 
ingly  kind  of  him.  I  heard  them  chattering 
like  two  magpies,  but  distinguished  nothing 
except  the  words  Ri chard  and  Polly,  which 
seemed  to  be  in  frequent  use. 

When  they  came  up,  Mrs.  Perrin  told  mo 
her  friend  (he  was  a  very  old  friend,  and  came 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.        319 

often  to  see  her)  had  been  so  good  as  to 
examine  some  turnips  which  she  had  proposed 
putting  out  as  seedlings,  She  had  known 
Annette  Graham's  father  for  twenty  years, 
and  it  was  nothing  uncommon  for  him  to  do 
such  little  favors  for  her.  She  was  afraid  it 
might  have  appeared  a  good  while  to  me,  that 
they  remained  away,  though  she  supposed 
they  had  not  really  been  more  than  three 
minutes. 

"  There  is  a  difference  in  the  length  of 
minutes,  Polly,"  said  Mr.  Furniss ;  "  I  have 
not  seen  them  so  short  as  they  have  been  to 
day.  not  since  I  was  left  alone." 

"  Too  much  of  one  thing  is  good  for  noth 
ing,"  replied  Mrs.  Perrin,  "  and  you  arid  me 
have  both  been  alone  more  than  has  done  any 
good." 

Mr.  Furniss  looked  at  Mrs.  Perrin  as  if  she 
had  said  a  very  wise  thing,  and  the  longer  he 
looked,  the  more  his  admiration  seemed  to 
grow.  At  last  he  said,  "  Why,  Polly,  you 
don't  seem  to  me  to  have  grown  a  day  older, 
these  twenty  years." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  have,  though  I  'm  just  as  smart 


320        MAEKIED,    NOT    MATED. 

to  work,  and  everything ;  but  you,  Richard, 
look  young  enough  to  go  to  see  the  girls." 

"  Why,  Polly  Pen-in  !"  replied  Mr.  Furniss, 
evidently  well  pleased  ;  "  1  know  I  look  older 
than  you,  though  I  believe  I  have  kept  my 
years  pretty  well.  I  will  leave  it  to  this  little 
girl  here,  now ;"  and  he  placed  his  chair  close 
to  "  Polly's  "  and  his  face  so  against  hers,  that 
I  wondered  she  did  n't  remove  a  little.  I  had 
never  been  arbiter  in  so  important  a  case,  and 
in  my  distrust  of  myself,  referred  them  to  the 
looking-glass,  to  which,  with  their  faces  in  the 
same  close  relation  they  resorted. 

"  Mercy,  Richard  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Pen-in, 
"  you  seem  to  have  the  feelings  of  a  young 
man,  at  any  rate ;  if  I  had  thought  of  such  a 
thing,  I  would  n't  have  come  to  the  looking- 
glass  with  you,"  and  she  returned  to  the  porch 
in  a  flurry,  and  held  up  one  hand  in  quite  a 
girlish  manner,  as  if  saying,  "  ISTow,  Richard 
Furniss,  repeat  that,  or  even  come  one  inch 
nearer,  if  you  dare."  Nobody  likes  that  "  if- 
you-dare  "  insinuation,  and  Mr.  Furniss  was 
no  exception,  and  at  once  braved  the  prohibi 
tion  by  sidling  up  to  the  widow,  and  remark- 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       321 

ing,  as  lie  exhibited  some  turnip  sprouts  with 
which  he  had  been  dallying,  "  They  are 
pretty,  ain't  they,  Polly  :  almost  like  artificial 
flowers  ?" 

She  had  evidently  never  thought  them  so 
curious  and  pretty  till  then. 

"  They  would  do  to  trim  your  cap,  would  n't 
they  ?"  and  he  twined  the  pale  and  delicate 
sprouts  among  the  black  ribbon. 

"  Oh,  you  make  me  look  like  a  bride !" 

"  And  if  you  were  to  look  like  one,"  replied 
Richard  Furniss,  "you  would  only  look  like 
what  you  might  be,  if  you  were  a  mind  to." 

Mrs.  Perrin  did  n't  suppose  there  was  a  man 
in  the  world  that  would  have  her. 

"Why,  Polly,  you  don't  say  what  you 
think ;"  and  the  look  of  real  admiration  which 
he  bestowed  said  very  plainly  that  he  did  not 
suppose  there  was  a  man  in  the  world  so  great 
a  fool  as  not  to  marry  her  if  he  had  an  oppor 
tunity.  Mrs.  Perrin  received  from  his  eyes 
some  such  meaning  as  this,  I  think,  for  she 
hastened  to  ask  me  if  Rose  were  well,  and  why 
she  had  not  come  with  me.  I  explained  that 
she  had  gone  to  Woodside. 
14* 


322       M  A  K  R  i  ED  ,    N  o  T    MATED. 

"  Woodside !  how  did  she  happen  to  go 
there  ?" 

What  would  be  impertinence  in  some  per 
sons,  was  only  the  manifestation  of  kindly  in 
terest  in  her;  so  I  explained  the  whole  matter. 
She  thought  a  little  while  with  a  pleased  ex 
pression  on  her  face,  and  then  asked  how  I 
should  like  to  be  left  to  dance  in  the  pig-pen. 

I  said  I  should  not  like  it,  for  I  did  not 
understand  her  meaning,  till  she  continued : 
"  Yes,  yes ;  you  will  lose  Hose  —  the  young 
doctor  will  carry  her  off —  how  will  you  like 
him  for  a  brother,  do  you  think  ?" 

The  mist  cleared  away ;  I  understood  now 
why  Rose  had  seemed  so  far  from  me ;  there 
was  something  she  had  not  confided  to  me ; 
she  had  gone  into  a  new  world;  she  was, 
indeed,  lost.  I  felt  wronged  and  grieved,  yet 
did  not  blame  her.  I,  too,  could  have  loved 
him,  but  with  my  life's  devotion  1  could  not 
have  purchased  that  which  her  carelessness 
had  secured  —  which  she  claimed  as  her  right, 
or  stooped  to  receive. 

I  was  young,  and  had  always  been  a  child 
till  my  mother  died ;  but  when  T  left  the 


M  A  R  It  I  li  I)  ,      NO  T      M  A  T  E  D  .          323 

homestead  I  seemed  to  have  left  my  child 
hood  behind  me,  and  when  I  saw  Stafford 
Graham  my  heart  had  stirred  as  it  never  did 
before.  I  had  longed  to  please  him,  even  to 
be  noticed  by  him  ;  and  though  I  could  not, 
at  the  time,  define  my  own  feelings,  nor 
suspect,  as  I  sat  on  the  rustic  porch  with  Mrs. 
Perrin  and  her  friend,  why  the  sky  looked  so 
black,  and  why  the  world  seemed  so  wide  and 
dreary,  I  understood  it  all  now. 

I  tried  to  divert  my  thoughts  from  myself, 
by  recalling  what  Rachel  had  said  of  the 
"match"  Mrs.  Perrin  would  probably  make. 
I  tried  to  listen  to  the  conversation  of  the 
•  ancient  beau  and  the  awakener  of  his  me 
mories  and  emotion,  as  they  recalled  how  such 
an  one  had  gone  to  school  with  them  ;  how  he 
or  she  had  lived  his  or  her  life,  and  was  dead 
long  ago.  Most  of  their  mates  were  gone,  they 
said ;  they  had  grown  old  faster  than  they  ;  and 
while  they  did  not 'seem  to  think  the  cutting 
off  of  their  own  friends  untimely,  they  re 
garded  themselves  as  only  in  the  middle  of 
the  race. 

I  have  thought  often  that  it  is  one  of  tho 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 


most  beautiful  provisions  of  God,  that  to  our 
selves  and  to  those  we  love,  we  never  grow 
old.  The  aged  man  talks  of  the  boys  that  are 
old  men,  and  the  husband  sees  in  the  wrinkled 
face  of  the  wife,  the  beauty  of  the  girl  of  long 
ago. 


A  K  R  1  E  D  ,      NOT      MATED.          325 


CHAPTER  Y. 

I  STATED  at  the  close  of  the  chapter  about 
Uncle  Peter's  illness  and  the  way  he  made 
an  example  of  himself,  that  he  felt  more  in 
debted  to  Mrs.  Perrin  than  to  any  one  else  for 
his  recovery. 

Mr.  P.  I.  T.  Throckmorton— for  he  liked  to 
read  that  name  on  his  cards — was  not  ungrate 
ful  nor  unmindful,  he  hoped,  of  the  excellent 
qualities  of  his  neighbor;  though  Mrs.  Perrin's 
sphere  of  life  was  not  his  sphere  of  life,  she 
really  was  an  excellent  woman.  In  view  of 
this  complaisant  recognition  of  a  fellow-being 
on  the  part  of  Uncle  Peter,  Westley  was  often 
commissioned  to  bring  the  good  dame  to  tea- 
drinkings  with  Aunt  Sally,  or  to  invite  her 


N  O  T      M  A  T  E  J>  . 


to  accompany  her  friends  in  drives  to  the  city, 
which  tea-drinkings  and  drives  Mrs.  Pen-in 
doubtless  found  a  pleasure,  the  drives  espe 
cially,  for  they  enabled  her  to  give  an  old 
friend  a  call,  a  very  old  friend,  whom  she  had 
known  for  twenty  years  and  upwards  :  some 
times  to  carry  him  a  basket  of  apples,  or  a 
pound  of  butter  or  cheese  —  he  had  done  so 
many  kind  offices  for  her  that  deserved  some 
return.  Whether  the  cap  trimming  with  the 
turnip  sprouts  was  among  the  kind  offices  I 
cannot  say,  but  incline  to  think  that  was  not 
forgotten. 

Notwithstanding  these  small  shows  of  amia 
bility  and  gratitude,  Mr.  P.  I.  T.  Throckmorton 
felt  oppressed  by  an  indebtedness  of  which  he 
could  not  rid  himself.  He  would  sometimes 
(and  Mrs.  Throckmorton  remarked,  that  it  was 
generally  after  eating  a  late  supper,  or  the 
tapping  of  a  new  cask  of  the  nice  brandy 
which  did  him  so  much  good)  awake  in  the 
night,  and  groan,  as  if  in  extreme  distress  ; 
upon  which  occasions  "  Mrs.  Throckmorton  '' 
was  in  the  habit  of  saying  :  "  Peter,  what  is 
the  matter?"  And  it  was  not  unfrequently 


M  A  K  K  I  E  D  ,      NOT      MAT  E  D  .          327 

the  case,  that  Mr.  P.  I.  T.  Throckmorton  re 
plied  :  "  Oh,  Sally  Ann  !  my  sense  of  grati 
tude  won't  let  me  sleep;  it  is  as  if  a  great 
weight  was  oppressing  me  ;  there  is  a  sense  of 
fullness  that  I  can't  give  utterance  to.  Sally 
Ann,  are  you  asleep  ?  Keep  awake  a  little 
while,  Sally  Ann,  and  talk  cheerfully,  if  you 
can  ;  think  of  anything  cheerful ;  I  am  so 
weighed  down,  so  burdened,  as  it  were  ;  it 
would  have  been  better  if  I  had  died,  Sally 
Ann ;  do  n't  you  think  so,  or  do  n't  you  think 
anything  about  me,  any  more  ?  I  believe  you 
are  fast  asleep.  Oh,  dear !  Oh,  mercy  !  I 
wish  I  could  sleep  ;  I  do  n't  close  my  eyes 
from  one  hour  to  another  ;  and  I  dream  such 
ugly  dreams.  Sally  Ann,  are  you  asleep  ?" 

"  No,  Mr.  Throckmorton." 

"But  what  can  I  do?" 

"  Shut  up  your  eyes,  and  see  if  you  can  Jt  go 
to  sleep  ?" 

"  Oh,  Sally  Ann !  you  think  everybody 
can  sleep  because  you  can  ;  if  all  your  system 
had  been  racked,  as  mine  was,  by  that  dread 
ful  spell,  you  would  find  as  much  difference 
as- there  is  betwixt  day  and  night;  be  patient, 


328          M  A  It  Ii  I  E  D  ,      NOT      MA  T  E  D  . 

Sally  Ann ;  may  be  I  won 't  be  with  you 
long." 

My  aunt  could  not  resist  so  pathetic  an  ap 
peal,  and  never  failed  to  rub  open  her  eyes  at 
this  point,  and  ask  her  husband  if  he  remem 
bered  when  they  were  married,  and  how  it 
rained,  and  she  spoiled  her  white  dress,  walk 
ing  in  the  garden,  and  had  to  put  on  the  sky- 
blue  satin,  the  first  day ;  and  then  she  would 
inquire  if  he  had  not  been  afraid,  upon  that 
occasion,  that  she  would  draw  largely  upon 
his  purse  for  her  wardrobe.  But  the  relieved 
gentleman  seldom  got  further  than,  "My 
dear  Mrs.  Throckmorton,  I  do  perfectly  re 
member  our  wedding-day,  and  the  white  dress, 
and  the  rain,  and  the  garden-walk."  Here  he 
would  drowse  away,  and  continue,  "I  re 
member  ;  yes  —  no  — ^  white  dress  —  what  did 
you  say  ?  Are  you  asleep,  Mrs.  Throck-k-ock 
—  Sally  An-n-n-n  ?" 

Here  a  long,  heavy  respiration  terminated 
Mr.  P.  I.  T.  Thro ckmor ton's  sense  of  oppres 
sion,  for  an  hour ;  and  Mrs.  Throckmorton, 
after  tucking  the  coverlids  comfortably  about 
his  shoulders,  would  succeed,  by  continued 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       329 

musings  on  that  blessed  wedding-day,  in 
wooing  back  lightly  her  interrupted  sleep.  It 
might  be  that  a  blush  would  just  have  mantled 
her  cheek  as  in  fancy  she  heard  Peter  for  the 
first  time  calling  her  "  My  dear  Mrs.  Throck- 
morton,"  when  the  whole  bed  would  move  to  a 
new  paroxysm  of  the  husband's  discontent,  and 
the  bride  would  awake  but  Sally  Ann  again. 

"  Oh,  dear !  Oh,  mercy!  where  am  I?  Sally 
Ann,  wake  up  and  speak  to  me,  and  get  me 
out  of  this  dreadful  state  !" 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Throckmorton ;  but  what  can  1 
do?" 

"  Why,  you  can  't  do  anything  as  I  know  of. 
I  was  so  shattered  by  that  dreadful  spell,  and 
then  the  memory  of  Mrs.  Perrin,  and  all  she 
did  for  me,  is  just  like  a  nightmare.  I  wish 
I  had  never  been  sick  nor  seen  Mrs.  Perrin ;. 
sometimes  I  try  to  think  she  didn't  do  me  any 
good,  but  I  know  she  did  ;  she  was  just  the 
saving  of  me ;  I'd  been  a  corpse,  Sally  Ann, 
but  for  that  woman  ;  this  sensible,  warm  being, 
would  have  been  as  kneaded  mud,  as  the  poet 
says ;  Sally  Ann  !  ain't  you  going  to  do  any 
thing  r 


330       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Throckmorton  ;  shall  I  get  you  a 
drink  ?" 

" Isro,  no,  no,  no!  yon  can't  do  anything 
unless  you  feel  what  I  feel.  How,  sharper 
than  a  serpent's  tooth,  it  is  to  have  a  thankful 
child!" 

"  What  do  you  say,  Mr.  Throckmorton  ?" 

"  Oh,  nothing ;  I  was  trying  to  give  expres 
sion  to  my  feelings  in  the  language  of  a  sublime 
and  sorrowful  mind ;  don't  question  my  ravings 
—it  will  make  me  worse.  You  haven't  done 
anything  yet." 

"You  said  I  couldn't  do  anything,  Mr.  " — 

"  Well,  but  a  man  do  n't  always  mean  what 
he  says,  especially  when  lie  has  been  broken 
down,  as  I  have.  Oh,  dear  !  Oh,  mercy  !  I 
thought,  may-be,  you  could  put  your  hand  on 
my  head  and  stop  its  aching,  and  hold  my 
hands,  they  tremble  so,  and  add  a  blanket  to 
the  clothing,  I  'in  all  in  a  chill,  and  get  up  and 
see  what  time  it  is,  and  ask  me  how  I  feel,  or 
some  little  thing  like  that ;  but  it 's  no  differ 
ence,  I  could  n't  stand  it  long  any  how  ;  and 
I  might  as  well  go  first  as  last-,  I  suppose." 

Here  my  aunt,  weak  and  nervous,  and  a 


M  A  E  R  I  E  D  ,      NO  T      MATED.          331 

little  irritable,  and  a  great  deal  alarmed,  would 
place  lier  thin,  trembling  hand  on  Peter's  head, 
and  ascertain  how  his  pulse  was,  and  add  a 
blanket  to  the  clothing,  and  see  what  was  the 
time,  and  then  in  tenderest  accents  inquire  how 
he  felt,  and  if  that  frightful  weight  seemed  at 
all  lightened. 

Uncle  Peter  would  generally  be  relieved  at 
this  juncture  ;  and  upon  one  occasion  he  was 
sufficiently  so  to  relate  a  dream  which  had 
disturbed  him. 

"  Oh,  Sally  Ann,  how  you  do  sleep  !  Just 
while  I  was  talking  you  went  to  sleep  ;  but  I 
had  n't  the  heart  to  wake  you,  and  so  I  tried, 
hour  after  hour,  to  slumber,  but  all  in  vain ; 
and  when  I  did,  for  a  minute,  get  the  better 
of  this  dreadful  oppression,  I  had  a  dream  that 
was  enough  to  make  a  man  crazy." 

"  What  did  you  dream,  Mr.  Throckmorton  ?" 

"  Oh,  Sally  Ann  !  I  thought  I  was  walking 
along  the  meadow,  and  I  saw  one  of  our  car 
riage  horses  eating  grass ;  I  saw  him  just  as 
plain  as  ever  I  saw  anything  ;  and  all  at  once, 
while  I  looked,  he  turned  into  a  great  big 
elephant,  and  swung  his  trunk  up  and  down, 


332          M  A  B  B  I  E  D  ,      NOT      MATED. 

and  looked  just  as  mad  as  lie  could  look,  and 
though  I  am  not  naturally  a  coward,  you 
know,  Sally  Ann  —  nobody  can  accuse  me  of 
that  —  I  felt  afraid.  You  know  I  was  asleep, 
Sally  —  if  I  had  been  awake  I  would  not  have 
had  a  fear,  but  I  was  asleep,  and  I  was  a  little 
scared.  I  never  had  such  a  feeling  in  my  life, 
Sally  Ann  —  not  when  I  was  awake,  Sally 
Ann ;  but  you  see  I  was  asleep,  half  as  sound 
asleep  as  you  was,  it  may-be,  though  it  ain't 
often  that  I  any  more  than  just  forget  myself 
in  the  course  of  the  night.  Are  yon  asleep 
again,  Sally  Ann  ?" 

"No,  Mr.  Throckmorton,  I  hear  every 
word." 

"  Well,  as  I  said,  this  astonishing  elephant 
shook  his  trunk  at  me,  and  it  was  as  big,  it 
seemed  to  me,  as  the  sill  of  my  barn.  Did 
you  ever  see  my  barn  sill,  Sally  Ann  ?'' 

"  No,  Mr.  Throckmorton,  I  do  n't  know  as 
ever  I  did,  but  I  can  guess." 

"  No,  you  can  't,  Sally ;  you  do  n't  know 
nothing  about  it  if  you  never  saw  it;  you 
might  as  well  have  said  you  knew  how  the 
reigning  emperor  of  Russia  looked,  because 


MAKEIED,    NOT    MATED.        333 

you  have  seen  Westley.  What  shall  I  compare 
the  trunk  of  that  beast  to.  Sally  Ann,  that  will 
make  you  aware  of  its  enormity  ?" 

"  Compare  it  to  a  big  tree,  Mr.  Throckmor 
ton." 

"  Well,  Sally  Ann,  imagine  a  big  tree  with 
its  top  all  trimmed  off — have  you  got  any 
imagination,  Sally  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  Mr.  Throckmorton." 

"What  do  you  think  the  king  looks  like  V 

"  I  think  he  looks  like  you,  Peter,  if  you  had 
a  gold  crown  on  your  head." 

"  Why,  Sally  Ann,  you  surprise  me  ;  I  had 
no  idea  that  your  imagination  was  so  brilliant. 
Well,  then,  you  can  imagine  the  tree,  denuded, 
as  I  said." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Throckmorton." 

u  Well,  then,  imagine  it  swinging  up  and 
down  before  your  very  face,  and  the  beast 
behind  it  big  enough  to  have  a  trunk  of  the 
diminutiveness  described.  Can  you  imagine 
a  beast  as  big  as  that,  Sally  Ann  ?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Throckmorton." 

"  Well,  but  have  you  thought  how  big  his 
feet  would  be  ?" 


334:  M  A  R  K  I  E  D  ,      N  O  T      MATED. 

"  Oil,  as  big  as  our  carriage-house,  nearly, 
if  the  roof  was  off." 

"  Ain't  an  elephant's  foot  an  ugly  thing, 
Sally  Ann  ?" 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Throckmorton,  so  large  an  one 
must  be  very,  very  ugly." 

"  It  was,  Sally  Ann ;  you  can  't  fully  get 
the  idea  of  it,  but  even  as  you  see  it,  in  your 
Blind's  eye,  I  mean,  you  don't  wonder  I  was 
a  little  stirred' — a  little  moved,  like  ?" 

"No.  Mr.  Throckmorton,  it's  a  wonder 
you  were  not  frightened  out  of  your  senses ; 
I  would  have  been." 

"  I  '11  dare  say,  Sally  Ann  ;  but  women  have 
no  nerve  —  none  of  the  qualities  that  go  to 
make  up  a  soldier.  If  I  had  been  awake,  and 
in  my  meadow,  and  had  actually  seen  as  huge 
an  elephant  as  I  have  described,  and  with  a 
trunk  as  large  as  the  tree  you  have  partly 
imagined  :  Sally  Ann,  are  you  asleep  ?" 

"  ]N"o,  Mr.  Throckmorton,  how  could  I  be, 
and  you  telling  about  that  terrible  fright  ?" 

"  I  was  asleep,  Sally  Ann,  you  know ;  I 
would  have  stood  firm,  all  unarmed  as  I  was, 
if  I  had  been  awake  ;  but  it  was  in  sleep,  and 


M  A  K  R  I  E  D  ,      NOT      M  A  T  E  D  .  335 

I  started  a  little,  as  I  said,  but  didn't  run  till 
the  big  beast  started  at  me  like  a  battering 
ram,  and  then  I  thought  it  discreet  to  fly,  Sally 
Ann,  and  set  forward,  or  was  about  to  set  for 
ward,  with  the  agility  of  twenty -years,  but  it 
seemed  to  me  I  could  n't  run  ;  my  legs  became 
palsied,  as  it  were,  and  refused  to  obey  my 
will,  and  I  fell  powerless,  and  yet  I  was  per 
fectly  conscious  of  all  the  perils  of  my  awful 
situation.  I  tried  to  call,  but  my  tongue  was 
like  a  piece  of  lead,  and  there  I  lay,  at  the 
point  of  the  bayonet,  as  you  may  say,  and  if  it 
had  been  to  save  my  life  I  could  not  have 
cried,  nor,  in  fact,  have  stirred  so  much  as  my 

little  finger,  and  in  that  perilous  crisis 

Can  you  imagine  it,  Sally  Ann,  or  are  you 
asleep  ?" 

"  I  can  imagine  it,  Mr.  Throckmorton,  and 
1 'm  not  asleep." 

"  Well,  in  that  deplorable  condition  I  lay, 
and  saw  the  beast  as  I  have  depicted,  with  a 
trunk  as  big  as  a  denuded  tree,  a  body  cor- 
responding,  and  a  foot  as  big  as  our  carriage 
house,  as  you  justly  imagined,  standing  right 
over  me.  I  saw  that  foot  uplifted  —  saw  it 
descending  —  ;nid  I  could  not  so  much  as  say, 


336        MARRIED,    NOT    MATED, 

Amen !  It  fell,  Sally  Ann  —  it  fell  on  this 
bosom,  where  thy  head  so  oft  hath  lain  —  and 
instead  of  crushing  me  as  I  anticipated,  and 
as  I  had  a  right  to  anticipate  from  the  circum 
stances,  it  fell  just  like  a  feather ;  did  you  ever 
have  such  a  dream,  Sally  Ann?  ever  think 
you  were  falling  and  come  down  just  as  soft 
as  could  be  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  have  dreamed  such  dreams  !" 
"  And,  Sally  Ann,  do  you  think  you  felt  at 
the  moment  those  dreams  had  possession  of 
your  mind,  anything  as  I  felt  in  the  catas 
trophe  described  ?  for  though  each  blow  of 
that  preponderating  foot  fell  so  softly,  just  like 
a  feather,  I  may  say,  I  could  not  but  be  appre 
hensive  that  the  next  would  stave  me  in  :  how 
could  it  be  otherwise,  Sally  Ann  ?" 
a  I  do  n't  see,  Mr.  Throckmorton. 
"Nor  I,  Sally  Ann!  in  my  own  mind,  I 
stand  exempt  from  censure  ;  but  I  fear  this 
recital  may  have  lowered  your  estimate  of 
my  manhood,  to  think  that  I  should  not  have 
speared  the  defiant  creature  to  death,  even  in 
a  dream,  Sally  Ann." 

"  But, Mr. Throckmorton,  you  had  no  spear. ' 
"  ]S"o,  Sally  Ann,  I  wns  all  unarmed;  if  I  had 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       337 

had  a  weapon,  I  think  I  would  have  struck, 
even  at  the  risk  of  still  farther  enraging  the 
furious  animal.   I  did  lift  my  arm — for  at  last, 
after  the-terriblest  struggles,  I  got  a  little  use 
of  one  arm.     Are  you  asleep,  Sally  Ann  ?" 
"  Wide  awake,  Mr.  Throckniorton." 
"  Well,  I  succeeded  in  uplifting  one  arm,  to 
fell  the  creature  to  the  earth,  and  then — what 
do  you  think,  Sally  ?" 

"  I  do  n't  know  what  to  think." 
"  Well,  guess,  Sally  Ann." 
"  Guess  what,  Mr.  Throckniorton  ?" 
"  Why,  guess  anything :    if  I  tell  you  what 
to  guess,  it  won 't  be  guessing  at  all." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Throckniorton,  I  guess  a  cow." 
"  Oh,  no,  Sally  Ann !  just  as  I  lifted  my 
arm  to  fell  the  extraordinary  animal,  it  seemed 
to  me  it  was  no  elephant  at  all,  but  Clark 
Boots,  beating  me,  with  his  fist,  for  the  rheu 
matism  in  the  heart.  I  could  n't  strike  a  fellow 
creature,  you  know,  and  while  at  that  humane 
employment ;  so  I  tried,  once  more,  to  run, 
but  he  kept  me  still,  by  the  asseveration  that, 
so  surely  as  I  attempted  flight,  that  wretched 
Doctor  Tompkins  would  get  his  steaming  tea- 
15 


338       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

kettle  under  my  vestments,  and  parboil  all  my 
unresisting  limbs  ;  so  I  feared  to  fly,  for  I 
dreaded  that  treatment  excessively,  as  you 
have  reason  to  know,  and  —  do  you  hear,  Sally 
Ann?" 

•"Not  one  word  is  lost,  Mr.  Throckmorton." 
"  And,  just  as  it  came  into  my  mind  that 
my  last  breath  was  gone,  and  that  there  was 
no  other  way  but  that  I  must  sleep  in  a  coffin, 
the  next  time  I  went  to  sleep  —  an  unpleasant 
reflection,  you  know,  Sally  Ann  —  I  felt  a 
little  relief,  and,  opening  my  eyes,  as  I  thought, 
I  saw  Doctor  Snukeroot  stuffing  a  live  pullet 
in  the  mouth  of  Clark  Boots.  Then  it  was 
that  a  joyous  jerk  of  my  whole  person  caused 
the  bed  on  which  we  repose  to  vibrate. 
Were  you  conscious  of  the  movement,  Sally 
Ann  P 

"Yes,    Mr.    Throckmorton,    your    sudden 
jump  waked  me  ?" 

"  Well,  Sally  Ann,  was  ii't  that  a  dreadful 
dream  ?" 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Throckmorton,  it  was." 
"  Is  that  all  you  can  say  to  your  poor  hus 
band,  and  when  he  has  just  escaped  from  the 


M  A  K  E  I  E  D ,      NOT      MATED.  339 

jaws  of  death ;  for,  though  it  was  a  dream,  I 
suffered  what  no  money  would  hire  me  to  go 
through  with.  Oh,  dear !  the  memory  of  it 
seems  to  interrupt  my  regular  respirations ; 
but  if  I  had  gone,  may-be  it  would  have  been 
as  well !" 

"  Oh,  my  heart  is  too  full  for  utterance  ;  if 
you  were  taken,  I  could  not  find  another  Mr. 
Throckmorton  in  all  the  world." 

"No,  Sally  Ann,  I  don't  believe  you  could. 
I  am  the  only  one  of  my  name  that  sustains 
the  ancient  character  of  the  Throckmortons. 
Pardon  me,  my  dear  Mrs.  Throckmorton  ;  of 
course,  I  could  not  breathe  this  to  another  ; 
but  you,  as  I  may  say,  are  a  part  of  myself." 

"Mr.  Throckmorton,  you  are  so  kind  !" 

"  Do  n't  go  to  sleep,  Sally  Ann ;  I  am  a 
little  nervous  yet;  I  shall  never  get  over  that 
dreadful  bad  spell  I  had;  and  just  to  think 
of  the  things  they  did  with  me,  Sally  Ann ! 
you  can  't  begin  to  know  the  things  I  suf 
fered." 

"  ISTo,  Mr.  Throckmorton." 

"  Sally  Ann,  I  am  afraid  you  are  going  to 
sleep;  don't  you  think  its  nearly  daylight? 


340         MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

its  as  dark  as  pitcli  in  the  room  ;  not  that  1 
am  afraid  of  darkness ;  I  rather  like  it ;  it  calls 
up  a  man's  braver}7  —  Sally  Ann,  keep  awake, 
and  see  how  pretty  this  deep  blackness  that  per 
vades  the  room,  is;  are  you  asleep,  Sally  Ann?" 

"  Mr.  Throckmorton,  I  am  not  asleep." 

"  Ain't  there  something  white,  Sally,  in  that 
further  corner  of  the  room  ?  Seems  to  me  I 
see  something." 

"  It 's  only  my  petticoat,  hong  over  a  chair, 
Mr.  Throckmorton." 

u  Oh,  I  thought  it  was  some  such  thing  ;  I 
was  sure  the  daylight  was  not  breaking  yet ; 
I  wasn't  afraid,  Sally  Ann;  but  it  wouldn't 
be  any  wonder,  would  it,  Sally,  if  I  was  afraid, 
after  such  an  awful  spell  of  sickness?  you  see, 
it  quite  unstrung  me  ;  I.  do  n't  feel  that  my 
courage  is  less,  but  I  feel  it  in  other  ways. 
Do  you  hear,  Sally  Ann,  what  I  am  saying, 
or  don't  you  hear  nothing?  It  was  a  big 
elephant,  was  r.'t  it  ?  and  its  feet,  and  Clark- 
Boots,  and  Doctor  Snakeroot,  and  the  dress, 
and  Mrs.  Pen-in  —  gratitude  —  Sally  Ann"— 

Here  Mr.  P.  I.  T.  Throckmorton  drowsed 
away  again.  My  aunt  was  soon  in  happy  un- 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.         341 

consciousness  ;  but  the  respite  was  a  brief  one. 
Her  hero-husband  clutched  hold  of  her  arm, 
with  a  power  that  would  have  broken  a  sleep 
seven-fold  deeper. 

"  Oh,  Sally  Ann  !  save  me  !  save  me  !" 
"  Dear  Mr.  Throckmorton  !  I  am  right  here. 
What   is   the   matter  ?     I  thought  somebody 
was  killing  you." 

"  Oh,  Sally  Ann,  I  thought  I  was  sick,  and 
that  some  devil  of  a  doctor  was  dashing  cold 
water  over  me,  so  that  I  was  drowning ;  and 
I  thought  you  were  Mrs.  Perrin,  and  I  grabbed 
at  you  to  save  me,  and  so  I  awoke.  Seems  to 
me  all  the  sheets  are  deluged  with  his  horrid 
cold  bath  ;  don't  they  seem  to  you  to  be  wet, 
Sally  Ann  ?" 

"  No,  Mr.  Throckmorton ;  it 's  all  your  fancy." 
"  Oh,  mercy !  Oh,  dear  !  that  dreadful  spell 
has  so  shattered  me !    Sally  Ann,  you  can 't 
keep  awake,  can  you  ?" 

"Why,  yes,  Mr.  Throckmorton." 
"But  you  fall  asleep  while  I  am  talking, 
fn.d  I  can  only  just  forget  myself,  all  I  can 
do  ;  how  can  you  sleep  so,  Sally  Ann  ?     I  be 
lieve  you  are  going  now." 


34:2        MARK  i  ED,    NOT    MATED. 

"  No,  Mr.  Tlirockinorton  ;  I  hear  you  ?" 
"I  wish  there  was  a  light,  Sally  Ann  ;  it's 
company,  when  a  man  is  lonesome.     Did  yor 
hear  me,  Sally  Ann  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  hear  yon,"  says  the  good  woman, 
and  forthwith,  she  rises  and  strikes  a  light. 
Uncle  Peter  lifts  himself  on  one  elbow,  and 
looks  about  the  room,  screening  himself  from 
the  observation  of  Mrs.  Throckmorton,  by  lifting 
the  coverlet  between  their  faces.  When  he 
has  finished  his  survey,  not  omitting  to  peep 
under  the  bed,  he  nestles  close  to  her,  and 
begs  that  she  will  talk  to  him  a  little  ;  say 
something  —  anything- — he  don't  care  what ; 
and  his  admiring  wife,  her  eyes  fast  shut, 
revives,  dreamingly,  the  happy  memories  of 
their  bridal  day;  repeats  how  the  morning 
was  bright,  and  how  pretty  Mr.  Throckmorton 
said  she  looked  ;  and  how  they  walked  in  the 
garden,  and  how  the  young  husband  was  vexed 
because  that  she  accepted  some  flowers  from 
Colonel  Mitchel,  and  how  they  sat  in  the 
arbor,  not  seeing;  the  clouds  till  the  rain  beirafP 

'  O  O 

to  fall,  and  so  the  white  dress  was  soiled,  and 
she  compelled  to  assume  the  blue  the  first  day. 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       343 

Happy  day  !  she  still  keeps  the  blue  dress  as 
a  memento  of  it. 

He  remembers  the  dress,  perfectly,  and, 
in  his  joy,  puts  forth  his  hand  to  extinguish 
the  light,  but  concludes  it  may  be  more  agree 
able  to  Mrs.  Throckmorton,  to  leave  the  light 
burning.  Women  are  timid,  and  so  it  is  suf 
fered  to  burn.  , 

"  Oh,  Sally  Ann  !"  he  exclaimed,  suddenly, 
"  there  has  a  great  thought  come  to  me." 

"  What,  Mr.  Throckmorton  ?  But  it  is  not 
uncommon  for  you  to  have  great  thoughts." 

"  You  are  a  discerning  woman,  Sally  Ann, 
— few  see  as  clearly  as  you." 

"  You  will  spoil  me  with  praise,  Mr.  Throck 
morton.  But  what  did  you  think  ?" 

"  Would  you  be  willing,  Sally,  that  I  should 
convey  away  the  blue  dress  ?" 

"  Convoy  it  where,  and  what  for,  dear  ?  it's 
never  been  out  of  the  drawer,  except  to  be 
sunned  (you  know  the  moths  will  get  into 
things),  since  we  were  married,  and  I  can't 
think  what  you  would  convey  it  away  for." 

"This  was  my  thought,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Throckmorton;  that  dress,  by  its  happy  as 


34:4:      MAKEIED,    NOT    MATED. 

sociation,  and  not  by  its  extrinsic  value,  13 
prized  by  me  beyond  a  ruby,  by  us  both,  I 
may  say  ;  and  what  could  so  well  express  my 
gratitude  as  the  conveyance  of  this  article,  so 
valued  by  us  both,  into  the  hands  of  the 
estimable  Mrs.  Perrin  ?  for  we  must  not  be 
ungrateful,  nor  unmindful  that  it  is  to  that 
good  woman  we  are  indebted  for  all  we  have 
enjoyed  posterior  to  that  bad  spell.  I,  Sally 
Ann,  would  have  been  a  corpse,  a  stony, 
white  corpse,  but  for  that  estimable  woman's 
interfering  prevention.'7 

u  Mr.  Throckmorton,  you  will  break  my 
heart." 

"  Forgive  me,  Sally  Ann,  I  ought  not  to  say 
corpse ;  I  wish  I  had  n't  said  corpse ;  corpse  is 
an  ugly  word  ;  I  do  n't  know  an  uglier  word 
than  corpse,  unless  it  be  coffin.  Ugh  !  it  seems 
to  me  I  can  see  one  of  the  long  red  boxes  now. 
Look,  Sally  :  do  n't  the  light  make  the  shadow 
of  a  coffin  on  the  wall.  Oh,  Sally,  forgive  me; 
it 's  as  bad  to  talk  about  coffins  as  corpses,  and 
I  really  do  n't  know  which  has  shocked  you 
the  most,  coffin  or  corpse." 

"  But  the  blue  dress,  Mr.  Throckmorton," 


M  A  K  it  i  E  D  ,    NOT    MATED.       345 

said  my  aunt,  humbly  remonstrating  ;  "  there 
are  two  reasons  why  I  object  to  your  arrange 
ment  ;  in  the  first  place,  the  dress  is  dear  to 
me,  from  association,  and  in  the  next  place, 
it  would  be  quite  useless  to  Mrs.  Perrin." 

"Explain,  my  dear  Mrs.  Throckmorton,  why 
it  will  be  estimable  to  you,  and  inestimable  to 
the  excellent  woman  to  whom  I  must  make 
some  fitting  expression  of  my  gratitude.  I 
sometimes  think  it  would  be  better  to  die 
than  to  live  under  a  weight  of  gratitude.  It's 
a  debt  we  can 't  pay,  my  dear  Mrs.  Throck 
morton.  Of  all  things,  it  seems  to  me  that 
blue  dress,  that  so  graced  your  youthful  form, 
would  be  the  most  fitting  expression  of  my 
grateful  emotions.  It 's  daylight,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Throckmorton,  clear,  white  daylight.  Surely, 
you  can 't  feel  timid  now,  and  I  may  as  well 
put  the  light  out.  I  do  n't  like  a  light  burning 
in  the  night :  it  makes  me  wakeful." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Throckmorton,  do  n't  burn  a  light 
on  my  account;  I  don't  want  any  light.  I 
thought  you  " 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Throckmorton,  don't  say  a 
word  ;  you  can 't,  for  a  moment,  suppose  that 


34:6  M  A  E  R  1  E  D  ,      NOT      MATED. 

my  manly  courage  quails  for  a  little  harmless 
darkness,  and  so  why  should  a  light  burn, 
unless  on  your  account  ?  Ah,  Mrs.  Throck- 
morton,  own  that  you  have  a  woman's  weak 
nesses.  You  rather  like  a  light,  in  a  dark 
night,  and  when  I  am  asleep,  don't  you,  my 
dear  2" 

Aunt  Sally  assented,  of  course,  and  Uncle 
Peter  dozed  once  more. 

In  the  pleasant  light  of  the  afternoon,  my 
Uncle  found  the  weight  of  gratitude  pressing 
less  heavily  on  his  bosom.  He  begged  that 
Mrs.  Throckmorton  would  offer  some  "  infeasi- 
ble  plan,"  as  she  had  objected  to  his  ;  where 
upon,  that  worthy  woman  timidly  suggested 
the  propriety  of  consulting  the  personal  in 
clination  of  the  nurse.  To  this  he  immediately 
and  decidedly  objected.  The  delicacy  of  that 
excellent  woman  might  prevent  the  indication 
of  her  wishes.  He  would  procure  a  pair  of 
cupids,  or  a  lap-dog  to  amuse  her  leisure 
hours,  or  an  antique  vase,  or  something  else 
really  elegant.  Mrs.  Throckmorton  shook  her 
head.  She  still  favored  the  idea  of  consulting 
Mrs.  Perrin.  "Not  the  lap-dog,  nor  the  pair 


M  A  it  K  i  K  D  ,    NO  T    MATED. 


of  cupids,  nor  the  vase,  would  be  prized  ;  she 
was  sure  of  that.  So,  after  much  deliberation, 
and  various  propositions,  it  was  finally  deter 
mined  that  Westley  should  be  dispatched  with 
the  best  carriage  to  bring  Mrs.  Perrin  to  drink 
tea. 

In  due  time,  she  was  set  down  at  the  door. 
She  carried  in  her  arms  a  great  bundle,  com 
prising  no  less  than  three  meal  bags  and  two 
sheets.  This  was  work  for  the  afternoon. 
Sewing  was  mere  play,  at  best,  she  said  ;  she 
always  felt  as  if  she  was  doing  nothing  when 
using  her  needle. 

Mr.  Throckmorton  wore  ruffles,  and  his  dia 
mond-pin,  in  honor  of  the  guest  ;  and,  as  she 
sewed  up  the  bags,  made  various  artful  at 
tempts  to  ascertain  what  small  addition  to  her 
present  possessions  would  be  acceptable.  A 
black  silk  dress  Mrs.  Perrin  already  had.  To 
be  sure,  she  had  owned  it,  and  occasionally 
worn  if,  for  twenty  years  ;  still  it  was  about 
as  good  as  new,  and  if  she  had  the  money  to 
get  one  with,  she  didn't  know  as  she  should 
buy  a  black  silk  dress. 

"  You  see,"  said  Uncle  Peter,  hitching  his 


34:8          M  A  R  K  I  E  D  ,      NOT      MATED. 

chair  a  little  closer  to  her;  "I  am  a  grateful 
man,  Mrs.  Perrin,  and  to  you  I  owe  my  life,  I 
may  say,  and  if  I  could  persuade  you  to  accept 
some  trifle' — -some  antique,  or  something  or 
other,  of  a  high  style  of  art,  it  would  really  be 
another  charity." 

"  Grateful  ?  nonsense  !  what  have  I  done 
for  you  ?  And  I  am  sure  I  should  n't  know 
what  to  do  with  an  antique,  if  I  had  it,  and  it's 
no  use  for  a  body  to  have  what  they  don't 
know  the  use  of." 

It  was  fearful  to  be  indebted  to  any  fellow- 
being,  as  he  was.  "Why,  just  think  of  it, 
Mrs.  Perrin,"  said  Uncle  Peter ;  "  I  was  al 
most  a  dead  man,  and  you  came  and  enervated 
me.  I  should  have  been  in  my  shroud  but 
for  you;  and  so  I  said  to  Mrs.  Throckmorton, 
last  night ;  or,  more  strictly  speaking,  I  said  I 
should  have  been  a  corpse  but  for  you.  I 
said  corpse,  though,  on  remembering  that 
corpse  was  a  word  disagreeable  to  the  ear  of 
Mrs.  Throckmorton,  and  especially  since  my 
bad  spell,  I  amended  the  form  of  speech,  and 
instead  of  saying  I  should  have  been  a  corpse 
but  for  you,  I  said  I  should  have  been  in  my 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.        349 

coffin,  but  for  you  ;  and  it  .is  true,  I  certainly 
should  now  be  a  corpse,  in  my  coffin,  but  for 
your  tender  solicitude.  Pardon  my  use  of  the 
words  corpse  and  coffin,  my  dear  Mrs.  Throck- 
rnorton  ;  I  will  not  use  the  words  corpse  and 
coffin  again.  And  now,  my  excellent  Mrs. 
Perrin,  what  will  you  accept  at  my  hands  ?" 

"  What  nice,  great  bags  !"  she  exclaimed, 
holding  one  up  admiringly.  "They  make  a 
body  feel  almost  rich.  One  is  to  hold  bran, 
for  my  cow,  and  two  are  for  flour." 

"  What  say  you  to  a  lap-dog  ?  I  will  try  to 
get  one,  of  the  King  Charles  breed  ;  they  're 
very  beautiful." 

"  Get  along  with  you !"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Perrin ;  "  I  would  as  soon  be  caught  with  a 
sheep  on  my  shoulder,  as  with  a  dog  on  my. 
lap." 

"  Oh,  dear !  Oh,  mercy  !  what  can  I  do  ?" 

"Just  do  nothing  at  all  for  me,  except  to 
send  for  me  when  I  can  do  any  good.  Why, 
I  had  a  real  pleasant  visit  the  time  I  stayed 
here  all  night." 

Mr.  Throckmorton  withdrew  to  the  open  air, 
•  —he  felt  that  he  was  stifling,  and  my  aunt, 


350        MAKE i ED,    NOT    MATED. 

by  a  little  praising  of  the  bags  and  sheeting, 
soon  worked  herself  into  the  confidence  of  her 
guest,  and,  without  obtrusive  inquisitiveness 
or  patronizing  overtures,  managed  to  get  at 
one  of  her  long-cherished  wishes.  Mrs.  Perrin 
would  really  like  to  visit  one  of  her  children, 
in  a  neighboring  state,  if  she  had  a  little  spare 
money. 

Mrs.  Throckmorton  remained  discreetly 
silent,  but  resolved  that  the  necessary  funds 
should  be  at  her  disposal. 

Great  was  the  joy  of  Uncle  Peter,  when  he 
learned  that  he  could  pay  his  debt  of  gratitude  ; 
but  the  joy  was  of  short  duration,  and  Mrs. 
Perrin  had  no  sooner  packed  her  black  silk 
dress,  than  an  uneasy  feeling  took  possession 
of  his  heart.  He  hoped  she  would  make  her 
visit  a  short  one.  To  be  sure,  he  was  glad  to 
have  her  make  the  visit,  but  two  things  still 

'  O 

oppressed  him :  the  sense  of  gratitude  was  in 
nowise  lightened — he  was  perfectly  satisfied 
that  money  could  not  pay  for  some  things,  and 
he  was  still  under  as  great  obligations  as'ever; 
and  then,  suppose  he  should  get  sick,  and  that 
estimable  woman  be  out  of  the  neighborhood, 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.        351 

a  hundred  or  two  hundred   miles  away !  the 
thought  was  a  terror  to  him. 

Mrs.  Pen-in  was  advised  of  his  uneasiness, 
and  when  she  told  him  she  should  not  be  from 
home  more  than  two  weeks,  and  that  he  looked 
so  well  she  thought  it  would  be  quite  impos 
sible  for  him  to  get  sick,  if  he  should  try,  he 
almost  concluded  it  would  be  so,  and,  ashamed 
of  the  fears  he  had  expressed,  shook  hands 
cordially  and  wished  her  good-bye. 

But  when  it  was  certainly  known  that  there 
was  no  fire  on  Mrs.  Perrin's  hearth,  and  that 
her  old  cow  had  been  sent  to  one  of  the  neigh 
bors,  and  that  the  door  was  locked,  and  the 
windows  dark  at  night,  there  came  a  change 
over  the  spirit  of  Mr.  P.  I.  T.  Throckmorton. 

He  insisted  that  the  lamp  should  burn  all 
night.  Something  might  happen;  there  was 
always  danger.  He  was  more  fearful  for  Mrs. 
Throckmorton  than  for  himself.  Two  or  three 
restless  nights  went  by,  and  Westley  was  re 
quired  to  sleep  within  call,  in  case  of  a  sudden 
and  severe  attack.  My  poor  aunt !  it  was 
little  rest  she  had.  During  the  day  her  hus 
band  was  less  apprehensive,  but  at  night-fall 


352         MAKRIED,    NOT     MATED. 

he  would  begin  to  inquire  how  he  looked,  and 
whether  Sally  Ann  thought  he  would  be  able 
to  rest  at  all.  He  would  count  on  his  fingers 
the  number  of  days  Mrs.  Pen-in  had  been 
away,  and  calculate  the  probabilities  of  her 
returning  sooner  than  she  had  proposed. 
"  Do  n't  you  think  she  will  get  tired,  and  feel 
disposed  to  return,  Sally  Ann  ?" 

Mrs.  Throckmorton  would  assure  him  that 
nothing  was  so  likely  as  that  Mrs.  Perrin 
would  return  earlier  than  she  had  intended. 
There  was  no  place  like  home,  especially  to 
old  people,  she  would  say. 

"May-be  she  has  got  home,  now,"  Uncle 
'Peter  would  suggest.  "Had  we  not  better 
send  "Westley,  Sally  Ann?  She  may  be  at 
home,  and  hurt  at  our  want  of  attention  ;" 
and  so,  after  a  week  had  passed  since  her 
departure,  Westley  was  sent  regularly  to  her 
house  each  night  to  see  whether  she  had  not 
come  back  ;  and  night  after  night,  as  he  re 
turned  with  the  intelligence  thjff^ie  was  not 
to  be  found,  Mr.  P.  I.  T.  Throckmorton  felt 
the  probabilities  of  a  sudden  and  severe  at 
tack  increasing. 


MAKKIED,    NOT    MATED.       353 

He  was  one  evening  observed  to  take  the 
measurement  of  his  breadth  of  shoulder  and 
waist  very  exactly,  and  such  a  measurement 
he  repeated  nightly,  afterwards,  and  though 
he  could  not  discover  any  visible  diminution 
of  his  dimensions  he  could  not  resist  a  belief 
that  he  was  falling  away.  The  effect  of  that 
bad  spell,  he  said,  remained  in  his  system,  and 
he  was  sure  that,  sooner  or  later,  he  must  fall 
a  victim  to  the  villainous  experiments  prac 
tised  upon  him. 

And,  in  truth,  his  friends  inclined  to  the 
belief  that  he  was  not  far  wrong.  His  consti 
tution  had  really  been  unhinged  by  the  con 
tradictory  and  sudden  transitions  of  treatment 
to  which  he  was  subjected. 

Ten  days  of  Mrs.  Perrin's  absence  had  been 
worried  through :  for  Mr.  P.  I.  T.  Throckmor- 
ton  had  not  only  the  old  weight  of  gratitude 
to  crush  him,  but  the  fear  of  a  relapse  added 
thereto.  It  was  no  wonder  he  grew  nervous. 
The  tenth  rifght  came.  Westley  returned 
from  his  errand  of  inquiry — with  intelligence 
that  Mrs.  Pen-in  had  not  appeared,  and  Mr. 
Throckmorton  protested  that  the  measure, 


354       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

which  fitted  about  his  waist  a  week  before, 
would  then  lap  a  hand's  breadth  ;  and,  after 
surveying  himself  in  the  glass,  and  repeatedly 
questioning  my  aunt  as  to  his  appearance  and 
the  probability  of  his  becoming  a  corpse  be 
fore  morning,  the  lamp  was  lighted,  Westley 
stationed  at  the  door,  in  case  he  should  be 
needed,  and,  groaning  and  prophesying  evil, 
the  miserable  man  retired. 

It  was  near  midnight,  when  Sally  heard 
the  familiar  call,  "  Oh  dear  !  Oh  mercy  !  I 
knew  it  would  be  so.  I  am  taken !  Sally 
Ann  ;  I  am  taken  !  Can  't  you  never  wake, 
woman  ?  Oh,  if  I  could  sleep  as  you  do ! 
Hour  after  hour  I  lie  awake  here,  and  you 
asleep.  Oh,  Sally  Ann  !  look  at  me,  and  see 
if  I  ain't  very  sick  ;  white  as  my  shirt,  ain't  I, 
Sally  Ann  ?  Yes,  I  know  I  am :  there  is  no 
need  that  you  should  tell  me.  Say,  Sally 
Ann,  ain't  I  as  white  as  the  sheet?" 

She  was  soon  astir.  "  Dear  Mr.  Throck- 
morton,  what  is  the  matter  ?"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  Sally  Ann  !  I  am  so  dreadful  sick  ;  I 
believe  I  shall  be  worse  than  I  was  before, 
and  no  Mrs.  Pen-in  to  do  for  me.  Wake 


MARKIED,    NOT    MATED.       355 

Westley,  and  send  him  ;  may-be  she  got  back 
in  the  night.  If  she  is  at  home,  tell  him  to 
bring  her  without  loss  of  time  ;  every  minute 
is  worth  its  weight  in  gold.  Qh,  is  he  not 
awake  yet  ?  He  ought  to  be  half-way  there. 
Call  him,  Sally  Ann  ;  louder !  louder !  louder! 
Button  his  waistcoat  for  him ;  he  '11  never  get 
dressed.  Westley !  your  master  is  almost 
gone  !  Sally  —  Sally  Ann  —  I  can  't  hardly 
speak ;  see  if  I  ain't  very  bad  ;  tell  me  what 
you  see ;  if  there 's  any  signs  of  immediate 
dissolution?  Oh,  Sally  Ann,  you  wouldn't 
tell  me,  if  you  did  see  the  fatal  color  on  my 
lips.  Oh  dear !  Oh  mercy  !  Oh  my  !" 

"  Where  do  you  feel  so  bad  ?  Can 't  you 
tell  me,  Mr.  Throckmorton  ?" 

"  Oh,  it 's  all  over  ;  I  'm  sick  all  over,  Sally 
Ann  ;  if  that  skillful  woman  was  only  here  ! 
Is  that  boy  yet  there,  do  you  think  ?  "Well, 
how  far  do  you  think  he  has  got,  Sally  Ann  ?'' 

"I  think  he  is  about  half-way — >a  little 
more  than  half-way,  may-be." 

"  Oh,  Sally  Ann !  do  n't  you  think  he  ia 
further?" 

"  Not  much  further,  Mr.  Throckmorton." 


35G       MAKKIED,    NOT    MATED. 

"  Oh,  lie  must  be,  Sally  !  He  has  sense 
enough  to  put  spurs  to  his  lK>rse,  has  n't  he, 
Sally  Ann  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  Mr.  Throckmorton  !  I  think  West- 
ley  will  ride  fast." 

"  Oh,  I  wish  he  was  back  !  Do  you  think 
she  will  be  at  home,  Sally  Ann  ?" 

"  I  am  afraid  not,  Mr.  Throckmorton." 

"  Oh,  Sally  Ann,  it 's  cruel  to  say  so  ;  how 
do  you  think  I  am  now,  Sally  Ann  ?  any 
worse  ?  But  I  know  I  am  worse  ;  it 's  no  use 
to  ask  you." 

I  need  not  repeat  all  that  Mr.  P.  I.  T. 
Throckmorton  said  on  the  memorable  night 

o 

about  which  I  am  writing.  Let  it  suffice,  that 
Mrs.  Throckmorton  was  sent  down  stairs  to 
bolt  and  bar  the  doors,  lest  Mr.  Clark  Boots, 
or  Doctor  Snakeroot,  or  some  other  of  the  tribe 
whom  the  nervous  man  regarded  as  his  tor 
mentors,  should  by  one  or  another  means 
obtain  admittance  and  make  an  end  of  him  ; 
that  she  was  sent  to  the  window  a  dozen 
times  to  ascertain  if  Westley  were  coming ; 
required  to  bring  a  looking-glass  to  the  bed 
side  that  my  calm  and  courageous  uncle 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED         357 

might  survey  himself,  and  know  accurately 
how  much  he  had  fallen  away  in  the  last  hour 
of  suffer! n<j;  and  that  she  was  further  directed 

O  > 

to  bring  the  measuring  string,  and  pass  it 
about  the  shoulders  and  waist  of  the  agonized 
man,  and  repeat,  again,  and  again,  how  very 
ill  she  thought  he  was,  and  whether  the  attack 
was  not  more  violent  than  the  first,  and  how 
soon  she  thought  Westley  would  come,  and 
what  were  the  probabilities  of  Mrs.  Perrin's 
accompanying  him,  and  whether  she  could  do 
any  good  if  she  did  come,  and  if  she  could 
do  him  good,  how  much  she  could  do,  and 
how  soon  she  could  do  it.  All  these  things 
and  many  more  she  was  expected  to  do  and 
say  in  the  space  of  half  an  hour. 

•Mr.  P.  I.  T.  Throckmorton  had  just  an 
nounced  it  as  his  firm  conviction  that  he 
should  not  survive  much  longer,  when  the 
servant  returned.  Mrs.  Pen-in  was  not  with 
him. 

"  Oh  dear!  Oh  mercy  !"  he  cried.  "  Come, 
Westley,  and  look  your  last  on  your  old 
master.  Do  n't  grieve  for  me,  Sally  Ann  ;  I 
hope  some  other  will  fill  my  place,  and  be 


358       M  A  R  K  i  E  D  ,    NOT    MATED. 

more  comfort  to  you  than  I  have  ever  been. 
Do  n't  cry,  Sally  Ann  ;  we  should  have  to  part 
sooner  or  later,  and  we  should  never  be  ready. 
Seems  to  me,  I  heard  somebody  say  a  new 
doctor  had  come  to  the  village." 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  Westley,  "there  is  a 
new  doctor,  and  they  say  he  can  nigh  about 
raise  the  dead." 

"  Go.  Westley,  and  bring  him,  quick  as  you 
can.  May  be  the  breath  of  life  can  be  kept  in 
me  till  he  gets  here.  Sally,  do  you  think  the 
breath  can  be  kept  in  me  till  the  doctor  gets 
here  3" 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Throckmorton,  I  think  so." 

"  Do  you  think  lie  can  do  me  any  good, 
Sally  Ann  ?  It  will  be  like  raising  the  dead, 
you  know.  Sally  Ann,  tell  me  I  ain't  so  bad 
as  I  think  I  am ;  but  I  expect  I  arn  worse 
than  I  think  I  am  ;  but,  Sally  Ann,  tell  me  1 
am  not  so  bad.  Ain't  I  awfully  white,  Sally 
Ann  ?  Say  you  do  n't  think  I  am,  Sally  Ann." 

Sally  Ann,  said  she  did  n't  think  he  was 
very  white ;  she  did  n't  see,  in  fact,  that  he 
was  much  changed  at  all. 

But  Uncle  Petei^,  replied  that  it  was  useless 


MARKIED,    NOT    MATED.        359 

for  her  to  say  what  she  did  not  think  ;  he 
knew  he  must  look  very  bad,  and  as  white  as 
a  corpse,  and  if  she  thought  lie  was  dying,  it 
would  be  better  to  say  it ;  there  was  no  use  in 
trying  to  deceive  him.  And  so,  do  as  she 
would,  my  aunt  could  not  please  the  nervous 
and  irritable  man. 

A  loud  and  quick  ringing  of  the  bell  put  an 
end  to  the  disputation  as  to  whether  he  were 
as  white  as  a  corpse. 

"  Sally  Ann,  if  that  is  the  doctor,  you  must 
tell  him  how  I  am  ;  I  can  't  speak  above  my 
breath ;  I  feel  myself  sinking  every  moment. 
He  must  move  very  slow  ;  I  guess  he  is  a  man 
of  no  energy.  Sally  Ann,  tell  me  what  you 
think  about  his  energy.  Oh  dear !  Oh  mercy ! 
I  \vish  I  had  not  sent "-  The  sentence  was 
cut  short  by  the  entrance  of  the  doctor. 

He  was  a  slight  old  man,  with  a  large  head, 
and  thin  grey  hair,  a  mild  and  benevolent 
countenance,  and  wearing  a  benign  smile. 

"  This  is  the  patient,  I  suppose  ?"  he  said  to 
Mrs.  Throckmorton,  waving  one  hand  toward 
the  bed,  but  passing  to  another  part  of  the 
room. 


360      MAUKIED,    NOT    MATED. 

"  Yes,  doctor,  and  he  is  very  impatient.  I 
wish  you  would  look  at  his  tongue,  and 
examine  his  pulse,  if  you  will  be  so  kind ;" 
and,  taking  up  the  lamp,  she  moved  toward 
the  bed,  but  on  reaching  it  discovered  that 
the  doctor  remained  motionless.  His  face  was 
turned  from  the  invalid,  and  his  hand  was 
pressing  down  his  eye-lids.  She  observed  him 
with  bewildered  surprise,  still  holding  the 
lamp,  and  expecting  some  motion,  but  for 
at  least  five  minutes  the  doctor  retained  his 
position.  Uncle  Peter,  meantime,  raising  him 
self  on  one  elbow,  assumed  a  look  of  indigna 
tion,  as  well  as  of  despair. 

"Pardon  me,  my  dear  madam,"  said  the 
doctor,  at  last,  in  a  tone  so  gentle  it  was  im 
possible  not  to  pardon  him  ;  "  I  was  trying  to 
get  an  impression  of  my  patient." 

"What  does  he  say  he  is  trying  to  get. 
Sally  Ann?"  asked  the  sufferer,  but  my  aunt 
could  only  shake  her  head,  dubiously. 

"  The  patient,  I  think,"  resumed  the  doctor, 
"  has  not  been  ill  a  very  great  length  of  time  ; 
that  is  the  impression  I  get.  Am  I  correct, 
madam  ?" 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.        361 

"  You  are  correct ;  it  is  only  to-night  that 
he  has  been  seriously  affected." 

"  Ah  !  I  thought  so.  I  could  not  see  him 
sick  any  length  of  time  back." 

Here  he  closed  his  eyes  again,  and  remained 
silent  for  five  minutes  more,  when,  dropping 
his  hand  from  his  eyes,  he  asked  whether  the 
patient  were  not  a  slight  man,  like  himself: 
that  was  the  impression  he  received. 

Sally  Ann  informed  him  he  was  quite  to  the 
contrary. 

"  Well,  madam,  I  had  two  impressions," 
replied  the  doctor.  "I  first  saw  a  stout  man, 
a  very  stout  man.  We  can 't  always  tell  what 
impression  to  trust,  provided  we  get  more  than 
one,  as  is  often  the  case." 

"  Ho  must  be  a  wonderful  man,"  whispered 
my  aunt  to  her  uneasy  lord. 

"It  is  strange,"  resumed  the  doctor,  musing 
ly,  "  how  reliable  impressions  are — how  much 
more  reliable  than  the  conclusions  of  reason. 
The  poet  beautifully  said,  long  before  our 
doctrine  prevailed,  that  is,  to  any  great  extent, 
—  for  it  has  in  all  ages  had  its  adherents  — 


S62  M  A  R  E  I  E  D  ,      NOT     M  A  T  E  D  . 

"  Reasoning,  at  every  step  he  treads. 

Man  yet  mistakes  his  way  ; 
While  meaner  things,  by  instinct  led, 
Are  rarely  known  to  stray." 

%4  He  seems  to  know  a  good  deal,"  whispered 
my  aunt,  and  Uncle  Peter  smiled,  and  said  he 
felt  a  little  easier. 

The  doctor  now  bowed  his  head  very  low, 
and,  after  a  silence  of  five  other  minutes, 
opened  his  eyes  and  illuminated  the  minds 
of  his  listeners  with  an  impression.  He  re 
cognized  in  his  patient  a  middle-aged  man : 
that  was  to  say,  not  a  very  young  man,  nor 
yet  a  man  a  hundred  years  old.  This  impres 
sion  was  also  correct,  and  educed  new  signs 
of  astonishment. 

"  Oh  dear !  Oh  mercy  !  I  should  like  to 
have  you  do  something  for  me,  if  you  are 
ever  going  to.  I  can  't  survive  this  way,"  said 
Uncle  Peter. 

The  doctor  arose  slowly,  and,  adjusting  his 
spectacles,  approached  the  bed,  where  he 
waved  his  hands  slowly  up  and  down,  before 
the  sick  man's  eyes,  into  which  he  looked 
steadily  with  his  own. 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.        363 

"I  don't  want  to  be  fanned;  Oh,  mercy! 
I  don't  want  to  be  fanned.  Tell  him  so, 
Sally  Ann.  I  am  all  in  a  chill  now ;  tell 
him  that,  too,  Sally  Ann." 

"You  hear  his  request,"  said  the  meet 
woman. 

"My  dear  friend,  I  am  not  fanning,  but 
mesmerizing  you.  Do  n't  you  feel  easier  ?" 

"Oh,  dear!  I  can't  tell  how  I  feel.  Ask 
Sally  Ann." 

Mrs.  Throckmorton  thought  he  felt  better  ; 
upon  which  her  husband  concluded  that  he  did 
feel  better. 

"  Feel  any  disposition  to  sleep  ?"  asked  the 
doctor. 

"  Oh,  mercy  !  Do  you  think  a  dying  man 
can  sleep  ?  No,  I  do  n't  feel  like  sleeping  ; 
do  I,  Sally  Ann  ?" 

"  No,  my  dear  Mr.  Throckmorton,  I  think 
you  do  not." 

"No,  doctor,  I  knew  I  did  n't." 

"  Oh,  I  do  n't  mean  a  natural  sleep,  but  a 
mesmeric  sleep.  Don't  you  feel  a  winking 
of  the  eye-lids !" 

"  Sally  Ann,  do  you  think  I  feel  any  wink- 


364:        MARRIED,    .NOT    MATED. 

ing  of  the  eye-lids.  Tell  the  doctor  what  you 
think." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Throckmorton,  I  think  you  do 
a  little  —  a  very  little." 

"  Oh,  dear  !  Oh,  mercy  I  Well,  I  suppose 
I  do.  But  can 't  you  do  something  more  ?  I 
can 't  live  long  this  way." 

"  Are  you  in  a  state  of  physical  pain,  sir  ? 
Exteriorly  you  do  not  present  any  alarming 
symptoms  ;"  and  the  doctor  pressed  two  of  his 
lingers  on  the  eye-lids  of  my  uncle  for  some 
moments.  "  Now  sir,"  he  said,  "  see  if  you 
can  open  your  eyes." 

He  at  once  opened  his  eyes. 

"  Did  you  find  it  hard  to  do  so  ?  Did  they 
not  incline  to  remain  closed  ?" 

"No,  sir,  not  as  I  know  of;  they  opened 
themselves." 

The  doctor  said  his  patient  was  not  impres 
sible  ;  he  would  proceed  to  administer  a  com 
posing  draught,  after  which  he  should,  he 
thought,  have  no  difficulty  in  putting  him  to 
sleep. 

He  now  requested  to  have  a  glass  of  fresh 
water  brought,  and  gave  particular  charge 


M 


AKKIED,      NOT     MATED.  365 


that  the  tumbler  should  be  rinsed  perfectly 
clean,  and  that  the  bearer  should  not  on  any 
account  touch  a  drop  of  its  contents.  Uncle 
Peter  looked  anxiously  at  Sally  Ann,  but  she 
was  mystified,  and  that  to  her  was  as  much 
as  to  be  edified.  She  smiled  encouragingly, 
and  he  seemed  to  take  heart.  The  water 
was  brought,  but  the  doctor,  after  looking  at 
and  tasting  it,  discovered  signs  of  a  human 
touch  about  it,  and  Westley  was  dismissed  to 
refill  the  glass.  He  muttered  something,  as 
he  went,  to  the  effect  that  he  was  bidden  by 
a  great  old  fool,  but  no  one  heard  him. 

"Ah,  that  wTill  do,"  said  the  doctor,  as  the 
fresh  water  was  brought  him,  and  taking  it 
in  his  hand  he  touched  it  with  the  tip  of  one 
finger,  and  afterwards  tasted  it.  He  then  pro 
nounced  it  a  healing  article,  and  proceeded  to 
administer  one  tea-spoonful. 

Mr.  Throckmorton  looked  at  his  wife,  to 
ascertain  whether  he  felt  any  better ;  but  she 
appeared  uncertain,  whereupon  he  began  to 
groan.  The  draught  was  not  of  sufficient 
power,  the  doctor  said,  and  Westley  was 
directed  to  walk  in  a  northerly  direction  till 


366       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

he  should  see  a  well,  to  draw  water  from  the 
north  side  of  it,  and  return  speedily.  All  this 
was  accomplished  in  the  course  of  half  an 
hour.  Tumblers  of  water  from  the  different 
sources  were  then  mingled,  and  the  doctor 
wet  the  tips  of  two  fingers  in  it,  after  which, 
he  added  a  drop  or  two  from  a  small  vial  that 
he  carried  in  the  left  pocket  of  his  waistcoat. 
Another  tea-spoonful  \vas  now  administered, 
which  he  had  no  doubt  would  compose  his  pa 
tient  in  a  few  minutes. 

"  Oh,  Sally  Ann,  do  you  think  it  will  com 
pose  me  ?  I  can  't  see,  for  the  life  of  me,  how 
it  will  do  any  good  to  give  me  water  to  drink. 
I  have  drank  water  all  my  life,  and  it  do  n't 
keep  these  bad  spells  off.  Oh,  dear !  Oh, 
mercy!  can't  you  do  something  else  —  some 
thing  more  efficient  ?" 

"I  will  have  you  easy  in  a  few  minutes," 
said  the  doctor,  and  forthwith  commenced 
manipulations,  but  instead  of  quieting,  they 
seemed  only  to  irritate. 

"  Oh,  dear  !  Oh,  mercy  !  Oh,  Sally  !"  were 
constantly  cried. 

"There   must  be,"   said   the   doctor,   "an 


MAKKIED,    NOT    MATED.        367 

internal  disorder  of  which.  I  am  not  cognizant. 
I  will  send  at  once  for  my  clairvoyant,  Mrs. 
Charity  Seeaway." 

"  Oh,  do  anything  ;  do  something.  I  can  't 
live  long  in  this  state." 

Another  dose  of  the  water  was  admin 
istered,  and  Westley  dispatched  for  the  clair 
voyant. 

It  seemed  a  great  while  to  the  querulous 
invalid  before  his  return,  for  Mrs.  Charity 
Seeaway  lived  six  miles  away,  in  another  part 
of  the  town.  It  would  be  tedious  to  tell  all 
that  my  aunt  had  to  say  and  do  in  the  mean 
time,  and  all  the  wonderful  cures  the  deserter 
from  Galen  tcld  of.  It  was  evident  that 
Uncle  Peter  did  not  understand  the  new  mode 
of  treatment,  and  was  not  altogether  satisfied, 
but  in  the  absence  of  Mrs.  Pen-in  what  could 
be  done  ?  Anything  seemed  better  than  a 
resort  to  his  old  tormentors.  It  was  an  hour 
after  sunrise,  when  the  little  nervous  woman 
arrived. 

''Ah,  my  dear  Mrs.  Seeaway,"  said  the 
doctor,  shaking  her  cordially  by  the  hand  ; 
"I  am  so  glad  you  are  come.  We  Iwvo  a 


368        MARRIED,   NOT   MATED. 

very  critical  case,  here.  Don't  suffer  your 
eyes  to  rest  on  the  patient,  if  you  please,  but 
at  once  put  yourself  to  sleep,  and  allow  me  to 
profit  by  your  observation  of  the  patient's 
interior." 

"  Yes,  sir.  The  initials  of  the  patient's 
name,  if  you  please  ?" 

up     J     ip     rp  " 

"  Yes  — that  is  all ;"  and  Mrs.  Charity  See- 
away  sat  herself  down,  and  stared  at  noth 
ing.  Presently  her  eyes  began  to  wink,  and 
in  a  moment  more  they  were  fast  shut,  and 
she  breathed  heavily. 

"  She  is  now~in  what  we  term  the  clair 
voyant  state,"  said  the  doctor,  and  he  pro 
ceeded  to  question  her :  "  What  do  you  dis 
cover,  my  dear  Mrs.  Seeaway  ?" 

She  seemed  to  speak  with  difficulty,  but 
answered,  "  I  see  a  diseased  man." 

"  Yes ;  go  on." 

"  I  see  a  black  spot  on  the  left  lung." 

"  Oh,  dear  !  Oh,  mercy  !  Oh,  Sally  Ann  !" 
exclaimed  Uncle  Peter,  "come  and  place  your 
hand  on  my  left  side ;  there  is  a  dreadful  pain 
there."  And,  lifting  himself  on  one  elbow,  he 


MABKIED,    NOT    MATED         369 

gazed  at  the  sleeping  Charity,  in  an  agony 
of  despair. 

"I  see  a  bottle,"  she  continued,  "I  think 
the  diseased  man  I  see  has  been  in  the  habit 
of  drinking  too  much  spirituous  liquor." 

"  What  more,  Mrs.  Seeaway  ?" 

"I  see  a  fever,  a  little  way  in  the  future. 
He  is  to  have  a  long  and  severe  illness." 

Uncle  Peter  held  the  hand  of  Sally  as  if  life 
depended  on  it,  and  the  devoted  wife  began  to 
shed  tears  profusely. 

"  What  do  you  see  now  ?"  asked  the  doctor. 

"  Nothing  more." 

"  Well,  how  far  in  the  future  can  you  see 
this  diseased  man  ?" 

CI  can  see  him  just  three  weeks  ahead." 

"  No  further  ?" 

"  No,  I  can  'fc  see  him  any  further." 

Uncle  Peter  grew  actually  white,  and 
begged  that  Westley  might  at  once  be  sent 
to  bring  Mrs.  Perrin :  not  that  it  was  likely 
he  should  live  to  see  her,  but  he  would  like 
to  have  her  attend  his  funeral,  and  to  com 
fort  his  beloved  Sally  Ann  at  that  afflicting 
time. 

16* 


370      M  A  B  it  i  E  D  ,    NOT    MATED. 

Westley  soon  departed,  with  directions  to 
make  all  convenient  speed. 

"  Do  n't  spare  horses,  and  don't  spare 
money.  And  now  look  at  me,  my  good 
"Westley ;  may-be  you  will  never  see  me 
again." 

Westley  did  look  at  his  master,  but  if  a 
thought  of  not  seeing  him  again  gave  him  any 
uneasiness,  he  did  not  manifest  it. 

"  Calm  yourselves,"  said  the  doctor ;  "it  does 
not  certainly  indicate  your  death,  that  this 
woman  can  only  see  you  for  three  weeks. 
You  disappear  at  that  time,  but  you  may  be 
well  at  that  time ;  and  how  can  the  clair 
voyant  see  a  diseased  man,  when  you  are  a 
well  man  ?" 

Uncle  Peter  thought  he  breathed  a  little 
easier,  and  reclined  on  his  pillow,  looking 
more  earnestly  at  heaven  than  he  had  ever 
looked  till  then. 

"  Can  you  see  any  remedies  for  the  diseased 
man,  my  dear  Mrs.  Seeaway  ?" 

"  Yes ;  I  see  a  bottle,  filled  with  what  seems 
to  be  sugar  of  the  maple  tree,  and  I  see  a 
quantity  of  the  berries  of  the  currant  bush, 


MAKKIED,    NOT    MATED.       371 

and  I  am  impressed  to  say  that,  if  a  tea-spoon 
ful  of  the  berries  is  added  to  every  table- 
spoonful  of  the  sugar,  and  the  mixture  placed 
in  the  sun  for  half  an  hour,  it  will  become 
curative  to  the  diseased  man  I  see." 

"  What  more  do  you  see  ?" 

'  3ee  quantities  of  weak  herbs,  and  quanti 
ties  ^f  bitter  herbs,  and  I  am  impressed  to  say 
that  if  a  poultice  be  made  of  the  weak  and 
bitter  herbs,  and  applied  to  the  chest  of  the 
diseased  man,  it  will  be  of  benefit  to  him.  I 
can  now  see  tubercles  forming  in  his  lungs, 
and  three  weeks  is  the  furthest  I  can  see  him 
at  all." 

Here  Mrs.  Charity  Seeaway  began  to  trem 
ble  and  twitch,  and  presently  she  unclosed  her 
eyes  and  sat  upright. 

Bitter  and  weak  herbs  were  procured,  the 
poultice  made  and  applied,  and  the  maple 
sugar  and  currants  placed  in  the  sun,  mixed 
as  the  clairvoyant  directed. 

Through  the  day,  my  uncle  thought  him 
self  a  little  better,  but  when  the  evening 
shadows  began  to  steal  through  the  windows, 
he  grew  suddenly  worse,  and,  an  hour  after 


372       MAKKIED,    NOT   MATED. 

dark,  the  doctor,  with  his  clairvoyant,  was  re 
called.  He  saw  no  alarming  symptoms.  He 
strove  to  quiet  his  patient  by  a  few  mani 
pulations  and  some  cheerful  words,  but  he 
could  not  thus  be  solaced. 

"  Oh,  Sally  Ann !"  he  cried,  "do  get  him 
to  do  something ;  but  I  do  n't  want  that 

O    7 

woman  to  look  into  me.  Oh,  dear !  Oh, 
mercy  !  there  never  was  a  man  cured  who 
was  as  bad  as  I  am,  was  there  ?  Oh,  doctor, 
what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  Oh,  Sally  Ann, 
get  him  to  do  something.  May -be  it  would 
prevent  this  dreadful  fever  to  take  a  little 
blood.  Oh,  my !" 

"  Ha^e  you  a  pine  table  at  hand  ?"  asked 
the  doctor,  of  Mrs.  Throckmorton. 

"  Oh,  gracious  !  mercy  !  mercy  !  Is  the 
man  about  to  dissect  me,  before  I  'm  dead  ? 
Oh,  Sally  Ann,  don't  let  him  dissect  me,  right 
before  my  face  and  eyes.  Seems  to  me  I  hear 
a  sound  like  grinding  a  knife.  Sally  Ann, 
remember  that  I  am  bone  of  your  bone.  Oh, 
if  Mrs.  Perrin,  that  excellent  woman,  was 
only  here  !  it  seems  to  me,  if  I  could  see  her 
old  black  dress,  it  would  do  me  good.  Sally 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       373 

Ann,  see  what  that  man  and  woman  are 
doing." 

"  Do  n't  be  alarmed,  my  dear  sir,"  said  the 
doctor,  compassionately,  "  we  only  want  to 
see  if  we  can  get  some  manifestations.  You 
will  allow  us  to  have  the  table  for  that  pur 
pose,  surely." 

"Manifest  what,  do  you  say,  sir?  Sally 
Ann,  do  you  know  what  he  means  ?  He  is  a 
dreadful  man  to  me." 

Here  the  doctor  entered  into  some  explana 
tion,  looking  piteous  and  benevolent  in  view 
of  the  great  ignorance  of  his  patient.  The 
pine  table  was  produced,  and  Mrs.  Throek- 
morton  was  invited  to  assist  in  forming  the 
circle,  which  she  did,  looking  tremblingly  at 
Uncle  Peter. 

"  Is  there  a  spirit  present  ?"  asked  the  doc 
tor,  after  a  silent  sitting  of  some  minutes.  All 
listened,  with  heads  inclined  toward  the  table, 
but  no  response  was  heard. 

"  I  fear,"  he  said,  "  we  shall  not  be  able  to 
get  any  manifestations  to-night ;  some  cause 
we  can  't  conceive  of,  prevents." 

"See  that?"    exclaimed  Mrs.  Charity  See- 


374:         M  A  It  li  I  E  D  ,      NOT      MATED. 

away,  in  a  lively  tone,  looking  at  one  of  her 
hands. 

"  No,"  said  the  doctor,  "  I  saw  nothing.  I 
think,  though,  I  feel  a  slight  vibration  in  the 
table.  Mrs.  Throckmorton,  do  you  see  any 
thing?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Do  you  feel  any  peculiar  sensation  in  your 
hands?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"There!  I  thought  I  heard  a  rap  on  the 
floor  !  Did  you  hear  anything,  Mrs.  Seeaway  ? 
Did  you,  Mrs.  Throckmorton  ?  There  !  I  felt 
it  distinctly,  then,  under  my  right  foot.  It's 
a  bad  spirit,  and  comes  up  from  below." 

"There  has  one  got  hold  of  my  hand!" 
exclaimed  the  clairvoyant.  "  See  that !  see 
that !"  And,  as  she  spoke,  her  hand  began  to 
move  about  the  table,  very  slowly  at  first,  and 
then  with  greater  velocity  —  now  at  one  side, 
now  at  the  other.  Presently,  the  hand  of 
my  amazed  aunt  was  violently  pushed  off'  the 
table. 

"Excuse  the  spirit,  madam,"  said  Charity; 
"it  means  to  indicate  that  you  destroy  the 


MAI:KIEJ>,    ISOT    MATED.       375 

harmony.     We  shall  get  better  manifestations 
without  you." 

Obedient  to  t.he  supposed  indication,  she 
withdrew  to  the  bedside,  to  administer  such 
consolation  as  her  kind  heart  suggested. 

Poor,  dear,  faithful  Aunt  Sally !  that  was 
a  trying  time  to  her.  It  was  not  long  before 
the  table  began  to  move  from  side  to  side, 
under  the  hands  of  the  doctor  and  his  clair 
voyant,  and  it  was  announced  that  a  tipping 
spirit  was  come. 

"  What  has  the  spirit  to  communicate  ?" 
was  the  first  inquiry. 

A  series  of  tips  followed,  which  being  inter 
preted  meant  that  the  spirit  was  the  deceased 
brother  of  Mrs.  Throckmorton.  But  my  good 
aunt  meekly  affirmed  that  she  never  had 
had  a  brother,  upon  which  it  was  concluded 
that  the  spirit  had  been  misunderstood,  or 
that  it  was  a  bad  spirit,  which  was  not 
improbable,  and  they  proceeded  to  test  its 
truthfulness, 

"  Can  't  you  rap  ?"  was  asked  of  the  invisi 
ble  intelligence. 

But   the   spirit   indicated,   by  tips,   that  it 


376       MARRIED,    NOT    MA  T  E  D  . 

could  not  rap,  unless  a  circle  should  bo 
formed. 

"  Let  us  call  a  good  spirit  to  drive  it  away," 
he  said ;  "  it  is  evidently  a  mischievous 
spirit."  Then  both  cried,  with  great  earnest 
ness  :  "  Get  away  with  you !  Begone,  bad 
spirit !  we  won  't  talk  with  you.  Go  away, 
and  let  a  good  spirit  come." 

The  table  was  in  rest,  and  it  was  believed 
that  a  good  spirit  was  present,  and  had  driven 
out  the  other.  It  was  also  thought  that  some 
more  satisfactory  manifestations  would  shortly 
be  obtained. 

The  man  and  woman  changed  positions  at 
the  table,  to  produce  a  greater  degree  of  har 
mony,  and,  after  sitting  nearly  an  hour,  Mrs. 
Seeaway  became  quite  confident  that  theie 
was  a  faint  tapping  under  the  thumb  of  her 
left  hand.  The  doctor  thought  he  felt  vibra 
tions,  but  he  might  be  deceived ;  the  groans 
of  the  patient  might  produce  the  jar.  I  have 
not  attempted  to  record  all  the  painful  excla 
mations  uttered  by  the  miserable  man  during 
the  progress  of  these  manifestations.  But  not 
withstanding  the  unfavorable  intervention  of 


MARRIED.    NOT    MATED.       377 

the  groans,  the  raps  became  audible  before 
long,  when  a  conversation,  something  as  fol 
lows,  ensued  : 

"  Does  the  spirit  wish  to  communicate  ?" 

"  Yes."  This  response  was,  cf  course,  rap 
ped  out  through  the  alphabet. 

"  Of  what  nature  is  the  communication  the 
spirit  wishes  to  make  ?" 

"  Remedial." 

"  It  has  come  to  do  you  good,  Mr.  Throck- 
m  or  ton." 

"  Can  you  give  us  a  prescription  ?" 

Here  Mrs.  Charity  Seeaway  affirmed  that 
the  spirit  said  "  yes,"  and  the  doctor  inclined 
to  the  opinion  that  it  said  u  no ;"  whereupon 
the  interrogatory  was  repeated,  and  both,  this 
time,  agreed  that  the  response  was  a  plain 
affirmative. 

"  We  are  ready  to  hear  it,"  said  the  doctor. 
"  Mrs.  Seeaway,  charge  your  memory  with 
every  word ;  life  may  be  depending  on  it. 
Now,  spirit,  will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  please 
to  favor  us  with  the  prescription  ?" 

Raps,  calls  of  the  alphabet,  and  groans, 
mingled  together ;  but,  after  half  an  hour, 


378  M  A  K  R  I  E  D  ,      NOT      MATED. 

Mrs.  Seeaway  was  enabled  to  repeat  this 
important  direction:  "Take  one  bird's  egg, 
and  one  ounce  of  the  oil  of  corn,  and  a  small 
piece  of  the  flower  of  mustard,  and  two  leaves 
of  the  mountain  herb  called  tansy  :  stir  to 
gether  with  the  forefinger  of  a  child,  not  five 
years  old;  place  the  mixture  in  the  sun  for 
five  minutes,  and  feed  it,  at  intervals,  and  in 
small  quantities,  to  a  male  cat  —  the  best  shoes 
of  the  patient  being,  meantime,  placed  on  his 
pillow." 

"Has  the  spirit  anything  further  to  sug 
gest?" 

"Yes." 

"  Will  the  spirit  be  so  good  as  to  please  to 
tell  us  what  to  do,  to  make  this  poor  sick  man 
well?" 

"Yes,  the  spirit  says  it  will,"  announced 
Mrs.  Seeaway ;  "but, 'Mrs.  Throckrnorton,  it 
stipulates  that  you  and  the  doctor  shall  leave 
the  room  meanwhile.  Do  you  object,  madam  ? 
Spirits  are  so  particular." 

Oh,  Sally  Ann  !"  exclaimed  Uncle  Peter, 
catching  the  trembling  wife  by  her  dress, 
"  Do  n't  leave  me !  Oh,  for  mercy's  sake, 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.        379 

do  n't    leave   me    with   that    unnatural    wo 
man  !" 

The  doctor  tried,  in  vain,  to  conciliate  his 
patient,  but  he  persisted  in  the  decision  that  he 
would  not  be  left  alone  with  the  "  unnatural 
woman." 

"  Wo  n't  the  spirit  be  good  enough  to  write 
the  prescription  if  we  remain  in  the  room  ?" 
asked  the  doctor ;  and  Mrs.  Charity  Seeaway 
responded  that,  if  they  would  cover  their  eyes, 
the  spirit  consented  to  communicate. 

This  was  acceded  to,  and  the  spirit  pro 
ceeded  to  say,  a  young  pig  must  be  bled, 
under  the  right  ear,  between  the  hours  of 
one  and  two,  that  night,  for  the  relief  of  the 
patient. 

"  Oh,  dear  !  Oh,  mercy  !"  exclaimed  my 
querulous  uncle;  "it  all  looks  to  me  like  the 
greatest  foolishness  in  the  world.  I  do  n't  see 
how  it  can  do  any  good,  to  feed  a  cat,  and 
bleed  a  pig,  and  place  my  shoes  on  my  pillow. 
Oh,  Sally  Ann,  can  yon  see  how  it  can  do  any 
good  to  a  dying  man  like  me  ?  Oh,  mercy  I 
Oh,  dear !" 

"We  can't,"  said  the  doctor,  "understand 


380       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

the  connection  of  these  things  with  your  well- 
being.  Doubtless,  however,  there  is  a  connec 
tion,  and  you  might  experience  almost  mira 
culous  relief  from  that  which,  to  our  ordinary 
apprehension,  would  seem  foolishness." 

Mrs.  Charity  Seeaway  here  informed  us 
that  the  spirit  impressed  her  to  believe  that 
Mr.  Throckmorton  could  only  escape  death 
through  spiritual  agency. 

What  a  running  to  and  fro  there  was,  for 
the  young  pig,  the  mountain  tansy,  the  flower 
of  mustard,  the  cat,  and  all  the  other  things 
thus  recommended  !  The  shoes  were  placed  on 
the  pillow  ;  the  doctor  soothed  and  encourag 
ed,  and  Mrs.  Seeaway  gave  out  her  impres 
sions  ;  but  the  patient  could  not  discern  that 
he  was  at  all  relieved.  My  poor  aunt  was 
scarcely  able  to  stand  up,  at  daybreak,  but 
she  gathered  courage  from  the  fact  that  her 
idolized  lord  was  really  better,  though  he 
knew  it  not.  The  doctor  said  so,  and  Mrs. 
Seeaway  affirmed,  in  her  clairvoyant  state, 
that  the  black  spot  had  disappeared  entirely 
from  the  left  lung.  When  the  sun  rose,  the 
doctor  and  his  medium  were  permitted  to 


M  A  11  it 1 i;  i) ,    NO T    MATED.        38 1 

retire.  The  patient  felt  some  slight  allevia 
tion,  he  thought ;  indeed,  lie  could  not  tell 
what  made  him  so  bad.  His  appetite  was 
better  than  common,  and  everything  tasted 
good  to  him.  He  was  not  in  any  pain,  and 
he  thought  he  could  not  have  much  fever,  or 
he  would  know  it.  Still,  that  he  was  very 
sick,  was  certain,  and  he  often  besought  my 
aunt,  in  the  course  of  the  day,  to  tell  him 
what  made  him  so  bad ;  but  she  was  puzzled 
no  less  than  he,  to  know  what  caused  him  to 
]JQ  so  —  she  only  knew  he  was  bad.  Once 
or  twice  she  closed  her  eyes,  in  forgetfulness ; 
but  he  seemed  to  know,  instinctively,  though 
fast  asleep,  when  such  was  the  case.  He  was 
impressed,  he  said,  to  ask  for  water,  or  for 
food,  as  often  as  that  faithful  woman  became 
unconscious.  She  saw  the  sun  set,  with  tearful 
eyes  ;  she  feared  that  Peter  would  not  survive 
the  night.  She  did  not  fear  on  her  own  ac 
count,  but  blamed  herself  that  she  should  get 
tired  or  sleepy  at  all.  "  If  Mr.  Throckmor- 
ton  were  only  well !"  was  all  she  could  say. 

"  Oh,  Sally  Ann  !  if  I  was  well,  I  would  not 
ask  for  anything  else.     Do  you  think  I  can 


382          M  A  R  K  I  E  D  ,      NOT      MATED. 

live  till  that  excellent  woman,  Mrs.  Perrin, 
arrives  ?" 

It  was  the  conviction  of  my  atrf  t  that  dis 
solution  would  not  immediately  take  place, 
but  she  dared  not  ask  herself  how  soon  she 
might  be  deprived  of  her  Peter. 

As  the  time  went  by,  he  became  more  im 
pressed  with  the  notion  that  he  should  not 
live  till  morning.  "  Oh,  Sally  Ann  !"  he  ex 
claimed,  "  I  might  as  well  call  executioners, 
and  write  my  will.  Yes,  Sally  Ann,  my  will 
and  testimony." 

Uncle  Peter,  propped  on  pillows,  and  with 
the  open  Bible  for  a  desk,  had  written  —  "  I, 
Peter  I.  T.  Throckmorton,  being  of  sound 
mind,  and  conscious  of  my  liability  to  be 
called"  —  when  the  lively  exclamation  of 
"  Hi !  hi !"  arrested  his  hand,  and,  lifting  his 
eyes,  he  saw  the  old  black  dress  of  Mrs. 
Perrin,  and  Mrs.  Perrin's  cheerful  counten 
ance  above  it. 

"  Oh,  Sally  Ann,  here  is  the  excellent- 
woman  !"  he  said  ;  "  tell  her  how  bad  I  am." 

"  Tut !  tut !  tell  me  yourself,"  replied  Mrs. 
Perrin.  "  I  have  rid  fifty  miles,  to-day,  to  get 


M  A  K  R  I  E  D  ,      N  (>  T      -d  A  T  E  D  .          383 

here,  and  now  yon  want  to  put  me  off,  without 
speaking  to  me ;"  and,  putting  aside  the  will 
and  testimony,  she  seated  herself,  and  taking 
the  sick  man's  hand,  chafed  it  softly,  drawing 
from  him  meantime  a  full  account  of  the  bad 
attack  he  had  experienced. 

She  shook  up  the  pillows  and  straightened 
the  bed,  administered  a  little  brandy  and 
water,  set  the  chairs  about  in  order,  brushed 
the  -floor,  and  presently  had  a  fire  kindled, 
though  it  was  not  cold  ;  and,  as  she  worked, 
she  talked  on  and  on  of  the  pleasant  visit  she 
had  had,  how  young  her  daughter  looked  for 
her  years,  and  what  she  called  all  her  children, 
what  an  awful  pretty  country  she  had  seen, 
and  how  powerful  weak  she  was  after  the  long 
ride,  with  a  thousand  other  items  of  news  and 
gossip,  of  little  interest  in  themselves,  but  all 
fitted  to  soothe  the  mind  and  induce  a  sense 
of  cheerfulness,  until,  going  near  the  bed  to 
feel  of  the  sick  man's  pulse,  she  found  him 
fast  asleep.  She  laid  her  hand  first  on  the 
wrist  and  then  on  the  cheek,  elevating  her 
eyebrows  slightly  as  she  did  so,  and  then 
softly  approaching  my  aunt,  whispered  that 


384:        MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

her  husband  was  no  more  like  to  die  than  she 
was — that  he  was  "nervous  and  lidgetty,  that 
was  all.  Them  merciless  doctors  Scared  him 
out  of  his  right  senses,  and  he  never  will  be 
himself  again.  "We  must  humor  him  a  little, 
Mrs.  Throckmorton ;"  and,  surprised  that  she 
had  made  no  reply,  she  peered  in  her  face, 
and  lo  !  she  was  asleep  too. 

Mrs.  Perriii  left  the  room  on  tiptoe,  and 
directed  supper  enough  for  a  dozen  hungry 
men  to  be  prepared,  herself  assisting  in  the 
preparation  of  some  delicacy  for  Uncle  Peter. 

Two  long  hours  passed  before  the  sleepers 
awoke,  and,  wrhen  they  did,  it  was  to  the 
sound  of  Mrs.  Perrin's  "  ^scat" 

She  had  discovered  the  cat,  no  matter  how, 
she  said,  but  she  had  discovered  him,  and  he 
was  making  nimble  leaps  before  her  broom 
stick,  when  Peter  and  Sally  Ann  became 
conscious. 

"And  mercy  on  us!'  she  said,  "if  there 
ain't  your  shoes  on  your  pillow!  Why, 
you.  have  been  out  of  your  head,  haven't 
you?" 

"Tell    him,   my   dear  Mrs.  Throckmorton, 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       385 

about  the  manifestations,  arid  all,"  said  Uncle 
Peter. 

Mrs.  Throckmorton  smiled.  He  was  better, 
oh,  so  much  better !  It  was  an  unmistakable 
evidence  of  it  that  he  did  n't  say  "  Sally  Ann." 
So  she  related  the  proceedings  of  the  spiritual 
physician  and  the  clairvoyant,  and  could  riot 
avoid  a  smile,  as  Mrs.  Pen-in  exclaimed,  "  I 
never!  if  that  don't  beat  everything!"  and 
when  Aunt  Sally  pulled  on  the  stockings  of 
her  dear  lord,  he  thought  that,  with  an  arm 
through  one  of  the  arms  of  each  of  the  women, 
lie  might  get  down  stairs,  and  eat  a  mouthful 
or  two  of  something  nourishing. 

As  we  were  at  supper,  no  one  could  have 
suspected  that  Mr.  P.  I.  T.  Throckmorton 
"  was  a  very  diseased  man,  with  a  black  spot 
on  the  left  lung." 

"It  beats  all,"  said  Mrs.  Pen-in,  "  what  fools 
there  are  in  the  world.  No\v,  I  believe  in 
ghosts,  and  omens,  and  such  things  as  that, 
that  have  some  sense  in  them  ;  and  a  body  is 
sometimes  foretold  things,  I  think,  in  their 
dreams.  So,  when  I  dream  of  seeing  the 
dead,  I  hear  good  news  of  the  living;  and  a 
17 


386       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

good  many  dreams  I  think  there  are  signs  in. 
Before  I  was  ever  married,  I  dreamed  of  seeing 
my  old  man,  just  as  plain  as  I  see,  you  now. 
Another  cup  of  tea,  if  you  please,  Mrs.  Throck- 
morton.  Sha  n't  I  give  you  a  bit  of  the  breast 
of  this  chicken  ?"  and  Uncle  Peter,  to  whom 
this  was  addressed,  said,  "Just  a  mouthful,77 
not  that  he  wanted  it,  but  he  thought  it  would 
be  nourishing  ;  then  his  cup  was  refilled,  only 
to  keep  the  excellent  woman  company ;  and 
she  resumed :  "  My  grandfather  was  a  man 
who  had  no  faith  in  ghosts ;  he  never  would 
allow  one  of  his  children  to  say  ghost,  I  have 
heard  my  father  say ;  and  he  often  said  if 
there  was  any  such  thing  to  be  seen  he 
wished  he  could  see  it.  Well,  he  got  to  be 
an  old  man,  but  he  worked  still  on  the  farm, 
as  he  always  did,  and  one  day,  as  he  was 
plowing  in  the  field,  he  saw.  all  at  once  be 
fore  him,  the  most  beautiful  woman  he  had 
ever  set  his  eyes  on.  She  smiled  as  he  came 
near,  and  said  she  was  come  for  him.  He 
looked  incredulous,  and  she  added,  '  Go  to  the 
house  and  ask  Ruth  (that  was  grandmother) 
to  put  new  strings  in  your  shoes,  and  if  she 


M  A  B  R  I  E  D  ,      NOT      MA  T  15  D  .          387 

does  it  without  speaking  you  will  know  that 
what  I  say  is  true.'  Now,  grandmother  would 
never  so  much  as  lift  grandfather's  shoes  from 
the  floor,  and  he  had  no  reason  to  think  she 
would  put  new  strings  in  them  without  speak 
ing,  and,  still  doubtful,  he  dropped  the  reins 
at  the  feet  of  the  strange  woman,  and  went  to 
the  house.  Grandmother  was  crimj  ing  the 
border  of  a  cap,  a  work  in  which  she  disliked 
very  much  to  be  disturbed,  but  grandfather 
no  sooner  said,  'Ruth,  put  new  strings  in 
my  shoes,'  than,  putting  down  the  cap,  she 
obeyed,  smiling  as  she  did  so.  Grandfather 
sunk  in  a  chair,  and  said,  'Euthy,  you  will 
wear  that  cap  at  my  funeral.'  He  then  went 
to  the  field,  and  there  stood  the  horses  in 
the  furrow,  but  the  woman  was  gone.  He 
loosened  the  traces  from  the  plow,  and  that 
night  he  was  taken  sick,  and  in  three  days  he 
died." 

"  That  was  strange,"  said  Aunt  Sally. 

"Remarkable,"  said  Uncle  Peter. 

"  Yes,  and  I  have  seen  some  things  myself," 
added  Mrs.  Perrin.  "  Before  my  baby  died, 
there  were  three  raps  on  the  door  one  night, 


388       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

and  the  baby  started  to  open  the  door ;  she 
could  just  walk  then ;  but  no  one  was  there, 
and  I  felt  right  away  that  she  would  be 
taken.  La,  me  !  if  it  ain't  twelve  o'clock  !" 
So,  laughing  at  one  superstition,  they  indulged 
in  another. 

I  need  hardly  say  that  a  light  had  to  burn 
for  Uncle  Peter  that  night,  and  that  Mrs. 
Perrin  kept  within  call.  But,  before  she 
retired,  she  asked,  aside,  of  Eosalie  and  my 
self,  whether  we  had  been  at  TVoodside  during 
her  absence,  and  if  there  had  been  anybody 
there  from  town,  and  if  we  knew  whether 
anybody  was  expected. 


M  A  E  R  [  E  D  ,     NOT     MAT  K  D  . 


CHAPTER  VI. 

SEPTEMBER  was  with  us,  and  the  grass  of 
the  orchard  was  dry  and  brown  ;  there  had 
not  been  rain  for  twelve  weeks ;  the  cattle 
waded  in  the  water,  for  the  shadows  were  not  so 
thick  and  cool  as  they  had  been  a  while  past ; 
the  flies  sung  drowsily  on  the  window  pane ; 
and  the  katydids  made  shrill  music  among 
the  dry  leaves ;  their  good  time  had  come. 
You  might  almost  see  the  dust  rising  up 
behind  the  furrow,  so  dry  were  the  fields, 
and  often  the  plowman  rested  his  steers,  for 
it  was  hard  work  to  cut  through  the  baked 
earth.  Fruits  were  ripe,  cider-presses  busy, 
and  barns  full.  "We  had  been  at  Uncle  Peter's 
since  March,  and  Rosalie  had  become  mistress 


390          M  A.  R  R  T  E  D ,     NOT      MATED. 

of  the  house,  and  of  the  garden,  and  fields 
almost,  for  she  had  her  way  in  everything, 
while  I  was  scarcely  more  at  home  than  at 
first:  I  had  not  learned  to  say  Uncle  Samuel 
Peter,  naturally  and  easily. 

Aunt  Sally,  who  had  been  all  the  summer 
trrowinir  better,  she  said,  was  so  feeble  now 

o  o  / 

that  she  could  not  sit  np  all  day.  It  was 
nothing;  we  must  not  listen  to  her  com 
plaints  ;  she  w^as  foolish  to  make  them  ;  espe 
cially  while  Uncle  Peter  was  so  much  worse 
than  she  ;  if  he  were  only  well,  she  should 
soon  be  up  again !  She  would  not  allow  me 
to  bring  her  wine  or  fruit,  or  to  fan  her,  or 
perform  any  little  office,  as  though  she  were 
sick ;  all  kindnesses  must  be  reserved  for 
Uncle  Peter.  She  lay  on  a  sofa  by  an  open 
window,  but  the  air  was  sultry  and  seemed 
not  to  revive  her.  She  wished  she  had  a  little 
more  strength,  and  could  do  something  for 
Uncle  Peter;  she  was  afraid  she  should  never 
see  him  well  again. 

"Mrs.  Throckmorton,"  said  her  husband, 
throwing  down  the  cigar  he  had  been  puffing 
almost  in  her  face,  "  it  appears  to  me  you 


MAKEIED,    NOT    MATED.       391 

do  n't  look  quite  well  to-day ;  you  do  n't  stir 
about  enough,  my  dear.  Now,  if  you  should 
go  down  stairs  and  make  a  plum-pudding, 
it  would  strengthen  you  and  elevate  yonr 
spirits;"  and  he  reached  and  took  from  her 
the  fan  with  which  she  was  endeavoring  1<» 
keep  her  poor  fainting  self  alive.  My  aunt 
smiled,  as  though  he  had  done  her  a  favor, 
and  made  an  effort  to  rise,  but  her  strength 
was  not  equal  to  her  will,  and  she  sank  down 
again,  saying  she  was  ashamed  to  be  so  worth 
less.  Uncle  Peter  made  no  reply,  but  seemed 
to  think  she  ought  to  be  ashamed. 

"  How  thin  you  are  growing,"  she  said 
to  him,  as  soon  as  she  could  speak  at  all : 
'<  let  me  feel  your  pulse,  my  dear ;"  and  she 
took  his  great,  moist  hand  in  her  thin  and  dry 
one  ;  if  he  had  had  any  soul  or  any  heart,  and 
not  been  the  great  lump  of  selfishness  he  was, 
he  would  have  perceived  how  hot  and  trans 
parent  that  little  hand  was,  and  would  have 
cast  himself  down  in  meanness  and  abject- 
ness  before  her  goodness  and  purity.  But 
my  aunt,  so  long  as  she  was  not  beaten  with 
stripes,  utterly  repudiated  and  denounced, 


392       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

was  grateful,  and  fancied  slie  had  even  more 
than  she  deserved. 

"  Bless  my  soul !"  exclaimed  Uncle  Peter, 
locking  from  the  window,  "  here  comes  that 
miserable  dunce,  Rachel  Muggins  ;  Mrs. 
Throckmorton,  do  oblige  me  by  saying  you 
are  not  in,  for  of  course  she  has  not  presumed 
to  come  to  see  me." 

"Of  course,  not,"  said  Aunt  Sally,  "but  I 
would  not  like  to  send  her  away  when  she  has 
come  so  far  through  the  heat  to  see  me ;  and 
you  know,  Mr.  Throckmorton,  you  received 
her  very  kindly  when  she  came  to  visit  you 
while  you  were  so  ill." 

"  I  do  n't  know  any  such  thing,"  he  replied  ; 
"she  may  have  been  here  when  I  was  un 
conscious  of  it ;  and  I  am  surprised  that  you 
presume  to  contradict  me." 

Aunt  Sally  was  frightened  into  submission, 
and  not  only  directed  that  the  woman  be 
informed  she  was  not  in,  but  said  to  Uncle 
Peter  that  no  doubt  he  was  quite  too  ill,  at 
the  time  of  Mrs.  Muggins's  visit,  to  retain  any 
recollection  of  it  —  violating  her  conscience 
for  the  sake  of  pleasing  him. 


MARRIED,    NOT    MA  T  E  D  .       393 

"  Goodness  alive !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Mug 
gins,  from  the  hall,  "you  can't  come  it  over 
me  in  that  way;  I'm  half- white,  and  free- 
born,  and  I  can  see  into  the  woods  as  far  as 
them  that  have  gold  specs,  and  Sally  Throck- 
morton  is  not  gone  out;  she  is  sick  a-bed, 
that's  whar  she  is,  and  I  have  come  to  see 
her,  and  I  will  see  her ;  so  just  clap  a  stopper 
on  your  jaw."  And  with  this  expression  of 
her  convictions  and  intentions,  Mrs.  Muggins 
made  her  way  up  stairs.  "  I  do  n't  wonder, 
old  fellow,"  she  said,  addressing  Uncle  P«ter, 
"  that  you  told  a  big  lie,  rather  than  see  me, 
because,  of  course,  you  can 't  get  over  the 
ingratitude  of  some  in  a  minute  ;  do  n't  it  beat 
all  the  bare-faced est  things  you  ever  did  see  ? 
I  was  never  more  surprised  than  when  I  heard 
it ;  I  just  told  him  to  carry  mo  out ;  you  see 
he  's  been  at  work  chopping  wood,  at  old 
Mose  Thill's ;  Mose  gives  him  seventy-five 
cents  a  cord  and  finds  him,  and  he  often 
chucks  some  apples  in  his  pockets  as  he  is 
coming  home,  for  the  young  ones.  You  know 
Miss  Thill  is  a  right  nice  woman,  but  lie  is 
headstrong  like  some  others;  and  he  drinks 
]?* 


394:          M  A  B  K  I  E  D  ,  '    NO  T      M  A  T  E  D  . 

too  much,  they  say.  Well,  he  come  home 
from  his  choppin'  work  at  old  Mose's,  and 
I'd  been  washing,  and  had  the  toothache 
some,  and  did  n't  feel  none  too  good :  the 
baby  was  cross  and  colicky,  and  I  was  flying 
about  like  a  hen  with  her  head  cut  off,  when 
in  he  comes  from  old  Mose's,  and  says  he, 
'  Kache,  if  you  '11  guess  the  news,  I  '11  give  you 
a  buss:'  says  I,  'Go  long  with  you :  none  of 
your  humbugging  about  me  ;'  and  he  makes 
at  me  again,  and  says  he,  '  Now,  guess,  old 
woman.'  And  he  was  so  funny,  Mart  was,  I 
could  n't  help  but  laugh.  Well,  I  guessed,  the 
first  thing,  that  Mrs.  Throck  wras  dead  — that 
was  the  likeliest  thing  I  could  think  of.  And 
says  Mart,  says  he,  '  No  you  do  n't ;'  and  sajrs 
I,  'Then  it's  Hen  Graham,'  and  the  Lord 
knows  I  hoped  it  was,  for  there  is  no  more 
comfort  for  him  in  this  world  than  as  if  he 
had  stuck  his  head  in  a  bumble-bee's  nest. 
i  No,'  says  Mart,  '  you  're  tracking  the  wrong 
rabbit.'  Well,  I  mistrusts,  right  away,  then, 
that  somebody  had  been  yoking  themselves, 
and  says  I,  'Doc  and  Kose  are  married,'  and 
says  he,  'No,  it's  a  good  deal  younger  folks ; 


M  A  Ji  K  I  E  D  ,      NO  T      M  A  T  K  1.)  .  395 

and  then  the  truth  just  busted  in  upon  me, 
and  says  I,  ;  It  ain't  old  Polly  Pen-in  T  and  I 
just  fairly  upset  the  dinner  pot  —  I  was  that 
much  took  by  surprise  —  though  I  had  been 
expecting  it  all  along,  for  you  know  all  the 
fools  never  die." 

"  Unfortunately,  110,"  replied  Uncle  Peter  ; 
"  but,  do  you  really  mean  to  say  that  Mrs. 
Perrin,  whom  I  have  taken  into  my  house, 
just  as  if  she  had  been  my  sister;  who  has 
slept  beneath  my  roof,  and  eaten  at  my  table : 
do  you  say  that  this  person  —  woman  I  can  't 
.•all  her  —  has  been  guilty  of  such  base  ingra 
titude  ?" 

"  She  lias  coaxed  old  Furniss  to  go  and  live 
with  her,  and  got  the  preacher,  I  suppose,  to 
say  it  was  right,"  replied  Eachael,  striving  to 
look  important,  as  the  bearer  of  such  news 
had  a  right  to  do. 

"Well,"  said  Uncle  Peter,  "I  think  there 
is  one  thing  more  she  had  better  do  now  — 
jump  into  the  river,  or  hang  herself;"  and  he 
pressed  his  lips  together  with  the  gold  head 
of  his  cane,  and  remained  silent  for  the  space 


396      MABBIED,    NOT    MATED. 

of  half  an  hour  —  repeating  only,  at  intervals 
of  live  minutes,  "Humph  !" 

"  "Well,  Uncle  Samuel  Peter,"  said  Kose, 
"  you  can 't  determine  what  to  do  in  the 
premises,  can  you  ?" 

"JSTo,  my  ward,"  he  answered,  receiving 
her  question  seriously. 

"  I  do  n't  see  what  you  can  do,"  she  re 
peated. 

"  Humph  !"  he  said,  presenting  Mrs.  Mug 
gins  the  fan,  and  entreating  her  to  lay  aside 
her  bonnet. 

The  rough  little  donkey  was  presently  led 
to  the  stable,  and  supplied  with  a  double  por 
tion  of  oats  and  hay. 

It  is  an  ill  wind  that  blows  nobody  good. 

"  Mrs.  Throckmorton,"  said  Uncle  Peter,  at 
last,  in  a  calm  and  collected  manner,  and  as 
one  conscious  of  having  nothing  to  blame 
himself  for,  "  did  you  hear  the  shocking 
intelligence  which  our  friend  Mrs.  Muggins 
has  brought  ?" 

Aunt  Sally  said  she  had  heard  — -. 

"You  did?" 


M  A  K  ii  i  E  D  ,    NOT    MATED.        397 

"  Why,  Mr.  Throckmorton  ?" 

"  Why  ?  can  you  ask  why !  that  person 
who  won  our  esteem  by  pretending  to  good 
ness —  that  person  who  has  set  by  my  bed 
side  —  that  person  whose  care  I  would  have 
given  more  for  in  time  of  sickness  than  for 
what  half  the  doctors  in  the  country  could  do 
for  me  —  that  she  should  marry!  Why,  if 
she  had  stolen  my  horse  at  midnight,  I  could 
and  would  have  forgiven  her ;  but  now  she 
shall  never  be  sent  for  again  to  do  for  me 
what  she  has  done ;  I  '11  never  call  her  Mrs. 
Furniss ;  no  never  !"  and  he  set  down  his  cane 
as  though  he  had  awarded  her  proper  retribu 
tion. 

"Yes,"  said  Rachel,  "I  expect  that's  just 
what  she  would  like  —  to  be  called  Mrs. 
Furniss  —  a  pretty-looking  bride  she,  and 
after  your  making  of  her  so,  and  all !" 

"  It  is  scarcely  creditable  to  believe,"  said 
Uncle  Peter,  and  he  continued,  "  I  suppose 
what  you  said  was  no  worse  than  the  truth  ; 
they  have  got  together  there  in  Mrs.  Perrin's 
old  house  ;  it 's  a  mighty  snug  place,  and  they 
have  just  made  it  up  between  them  that  he 


398       MAKKIED,    NOT    MATED. 

should  milk  the  cow,  and  she  darn  the  stock 
ings  ;  in  short  that  they  would  live  together, 
and  so  they  have  got  some  preacher  or  squire 
to  say  they  might,  and  that  I  '11  just  bet  you 
all  the  world,  or  Throckmortoii  Hall,  if  you 
are  a  mind  to  say  so,  is  the  whole  amount  of 
it." 

"I  don't  doubt  it,"  said  Eose,  biting  her 

UP. 

"  Doubt  it,  no,  who  could  doubt  it  ?  Mrs. 
Muggins,  shall  I  offer  you  wine  ?  you  look 
faint."  The  awful  news  had  the  effect  to 
warm  Uncle  Peter's  heart  towards  every  body 
but  the  perpetrators  of  the  crime,  and  Mrs. 
Muggins  and  he  drank  wine  together. 

It  seemed  that  they  would  never  have  done 
dwelling  on  the  suspicion  that  the  offending 
parties  had  mutually  agreed  to  help  one 
another  —  in  fact,  to  be  married  —  and  that 
a  grave,  legally-authorized  individual,  had 
actually  pronounced  them  husband  and  wife. 
Aunt  Sally  tried  sincerely  to  discover  what 
was  so  outrageous  in  the  transaction,  but 
failed,  and  concluded  her  perceptions  were 
growing  weak,  for  that  Mr.  Throckmorton 


MARRIED,      NOT     MATED.          399 

could  be  mistaken  was  not  for  a  moment  to 
be  supposed. 

"How  old  do  you  think  the  bride  is, 
colonel?"  asked  Bachel,  brightening  up  under 
this  new  patronage. 

"  Sixty-five,  at  least." 

"  Lord  bless  you  !  she  is  more  like  seventy- 
five.  Why,  as  long  ago  as  I  can  remember, 
she  was  an  old  woman ;  her  husband  died 
twenty  years  ago,  and  on  his  grave-stone  it 
says,  aged  fifty  ;  and  allowing  that  they  were 
both  of  one  age,  and  that 's  most  likely,  she  is 
seventy  now,  and  I  would  not  wonder  if  she 
was  seventy-five.  She  is  as  smart  as  a  cricket, 
though,  especially  at  talking." 

At  this  Uncle  Peter  laughed  as  much  as  the 
grave  subject  wrould  admit  of,  and  Mrs.  Mug 
gins,  thus  encouraged,  continued :  "  I  know 
something  she  has  said  about  you." 

"  Humph !"  said  Uncle  Peter,  as  though 
nothing  Polly  Perrin  could  do  would  shock 
him  further,  and  Mrs.  Muggins  proceeded : 
"  She 's  a  dreadful  gossip,  that  woman  is 
—  there  is  nothing  happens  far  nor  near  that 
she  hasn't  something  to  say  about  it;  she  is 


4:00  M  A  R  K  I  E  D  ,      NOT      MATED. 

as  full  of  news  as  an  egg  is  full  of  meat ;  oh, 
she  is  a  dreadful  gossip.  She  come  to  see  me 
a  good  deal  along  when  Jackson  was  a  baby, 
and,  I  tell  you,  I  got  so  tired  of  her  gab,  I 
thought  sometimes  I  'd  tell  her  she  was 
meddling  with  what  was  none  of  her  business, 
and  I  did  show  her  that  I  thought  so,  as  plain 
as  I  could,  except  by  word  of  mouth ;  but 
some  folks  can  't  take  a  hint." 

"  Humph !"  replied  Uncle  Peter,  "  well  I 
dare  say ;  and  it's  a  wonder  she  had  n't  talked 
you  to  death." 

u  She  would  have  done  so,  twenty  times," 
said  Rachel,  "  but  that  I  clapt  my  hands  to 
my  ears  when  she  got  to  going  on  too  bad." 

"I  am  enabled  to  state,"  said  Uncle  Peter, 
and  his  tone  and  manner  indicated  that  it 
gave  him  great  satisfaction  to  be  able  to  make 
the  declaration,  "that  there  was  always  some 
thing  in  that  woman's  face  that  I  didn't 
exactly  like.  I  can  't  tell  what  it  was,  but 
there  was  something,  invisible  as  it  were." 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,"  replied  Rachel, 
"  it  was  as  if  she  pretended  to  be  awful  good 
and  was  n't  so ;  well,  I  never  did  like  her,  to 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       401 

speak  the  truth  —  talking  as  she  did  about 
you." 

"  I  thank  my  God,"  said  Uncle  Peter,  but 
he  looked  as  though  he  thanked  himself,  "that 
my  reputation  can't  suffer  by  anything  that 
woman  can  say.  She  can  't  burn  up  Throck- 
morton  Hall,  and  she  might  just  as  well  be 
quiet,  and  not  meddle  with  things  that  do  n't 
concern  her."  And  he  had  not,  apparently, 
the  remotest  idea  that  that  advice  was  suited 
to  his  own  condition,  as  he  walked  up  and 
down  the  room,  in  angry  excitement. 

"Did  she  say  I  was  a  liar?"  he  asked, 
directly. 

"No,  not  exactly,"  replied  Rachel,  in  a 
tone  which  indicated  that  she  had  very  nearly 
said  so. 

"  Did  she  say  I  stole  ?" 

"  Oh,  do  n't  mind  what  she  said,"  replied 
Rachel,  "  she  ain't  worth  minding." 

"  She  shall  suffer  for  it,"  said  Uncle  Peter  ; 
"  I  '11  sue  her  at  law.  I  '11  catch  her  talking 
about  me." 

"  Oh,  she  did  n't  say  anything  so  very  bad," 
interrupted  Rachel,  "she  said  you  were  not 


402        MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

half  so  sick  as  you  thought  yourself,  and  that 
Mrs.  Throckmorton  was  worse  than  you 
were." 

"  Humph !  that  woman  is  ungrateful."  And 
he  called  upon  my  aunt  to  say  whether  there 
was  not  something  about  that  woman  that  she 
did  n't  exactly  like. 

Thus  urged,  Aunt  Sally  said  she  never  liked 
the  fashion  of  her  caps  very  well. 

"I  never  liked  the  fashion  of  her  face," 
said  Eachel;  "and  her  old  black  dress  1 
couldn't  bear  —  it's  about  as  good  now  as 
the  first  day  she  wore  it,  and  that  was  ten 
years  ago,  to  Jim's  funeral.  Did  I  ever  tell 
you  how  black  he  turned?  just  as  black  as 
your  hat,  colonel,  before  he  was  buried.  You 
see,  grandmam  took  on,  and  said  she  could  n't 
part  with  him,  and  when  she  came  to  take  her 
last  look  they  had  to  fairly  pull  her  away 
from  the  coffin  !  Oh,  it  was  such  a  fine  one, 
and  grandmam  took  it  so  hard." 

Aunt  Sally  tried  to  raise  herself  from  the 
sofa,  as  if  thoughts  of  sickness  and  death  were 
dreadful.  Rachel  felt,  in  some  crude  way, 
that  she  had  disturbed  her,  and  hastened  to 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.         403 

soothe  her,  by  saying:  "Don't  be  scared, 
mam.  We  can  keep  you  a  week,  if  we  want 
to  ;  you  are  so  thin,  you  see." 

"  If  that  woman,"  said  Uncle  Peter,  "  ever 
presumes  to  speak  of  me,  again,  tell  her  not  to 
speak  of  me  ;  that 's  my  wish,  that  she  shall 
not  speak  of  me." 

"I  don't  like  to  talk  against  folks,"  said 
Rachel,  "  but  I  went  there  oncet,  and  what  do 
you  think  old  Polly  was  doing  ?" 

Uncle  Peter  could  n't  tell ;  she  might  have 
been  coining,  for  all  he  knew. 

"  Well,"  said  Rachel,  "  she  was  sifting  flour 
to  make  bread.  ISTow,  anybody  that  will  sift 
flour  to  make  bread !  that  's  all  I.  want  to 
know  about  them." 

Aunt  Sally  groaned  aloud.  Her  face  \vas 
white  and  her  lips  trembling.  Water  was 
brought ;  she  had  yet  strength  enough  to  raise 
her  hand  and  push  the  cup  towards  Uncle 
Peter,  and.  waiting  for  him  to  drink,  her  eyes 
closed,  and  she  became  insensible. 

"  Oh,  Sally  !  Sally  !"  called  Uncle  Peter, 
"  she  is  dead  !  she  is  dead  !" 

"  Mercy  !    I  would  n't  touch  a  corpse,  for 


404:  M  A  K  E  I  E  D  ,      N  O  T      MA  T  E  v< . 

the  life  of  me  !"  cried  Rachel,  and,  forthwith, 
both  ran  out  of  the  room. 

We  poor  frightened  children  did  the  best 
we  could,  and  after  a  few  minutes  our  dear 
aunt  partially  revived,  and  insisted  that  she 
should  not  be  carried  to  her  bed  until  her 
husband's  return.  He  might  think  her  worse 
than  she  was,  if  he  should  come  in  and  see 
her  there ;  and  so,  with  some  pillows,  we 
made  her  as  comfortable  as  she  thought  she 
ought  to  be,  and  wraited  anxiously  for  the 
presence  of  the  fugitives,  whose  disappearance 
we  could  not  account  for.  At  the  end  of  an 
hour  they  came,  and  with  them  good  Mrs. 
Pen-in,  or  Mrs.  Furniss,  as  we  should  say, 
I  suppose.  Obedient  to  the  first  generous 
impulse  of  their  hearts,  and  forgetful  of  the 
little  spite  which,  I  doubt  not,  is  felt  by  some 
persons  whenever  a  marriage  takes  place, 
they  had  visited  her,  and  besought  her  to 
come  to  the  Hall. 

The  well-fed  donkey  was  led  forth  pre 
sently,  and  Rachel,  having  invited  Mrs.  Fur 
niss,  a  dozen  times,  to  come  and  drink  tea 
with  her,  and  bring  the  old  man  along  —  to 


M  A  E,  n  i  K  D  ,    NOT    MAT  E  D  .       405 

be  sure  and  come  very  soon  —  mounted,  and 
rode  homeward. 

And  days  passed  ;  and  no  rain  fell.  The 
c.^ads  looked  thin  and  dry  and  far  away,  and 
fell  apart,  time  after  time,  and  seemed  to 
mingle  with  the  dust  that  filled  all  the  at 
mosphere.  The  yet  green  leaves  crisped  and 
curled  up,  and  the  garden  flowers  blackened, 
together,  like  roses  in  a  drawer ;  the  grass 
withered  white  ;  and  the  hungry  cattle  sullen 
ly  came  to  the  well  to  drink  ;  for  we  could 
see  all  the  bottoms  of  the  brooks  parched  by 
the  hot  sun ;  the  red  and  green  crawfishes  lay 
dead  along  the  pebbly  courses  of  the  brooks ; 
and  the  crows  came  down  and  had  a  feast. 

Aunt  Sally  was  still  getting  better,  she 
»aid  ;  if  it  would  rain,  if  it  would  only  rain ! 
she  should  be  quite  well.  And  Mrs.  Furniss 
frequently  stayed  all  day,  and  all  night  too. 
She  could  stay  from  home  better,  now,  than 
she  used  to,  and  we  were  all  glad  that  it  was 
so.  Sometimes,  Mr.  Furniss  himself  came,  and 
brought  ripe  apples  and  peaches,  which  Aunt 
Sally  could  not  eat,  but  which  pleased  her, 


406        MARRIED,    N  o  T    MAT  E  D  . 

nevertheless,  for  we  are  cliildren,  to  the  last, 
when  receiving  kindness.  She  would  eat  them 
another  time,  she  always  said,  smiling;  but 
the  time  never  came. 

And,  day  by  day,  Uncle  Peter  brought  a 
button  to  the  bedside  to  be  sewed  on,  or  a 
torn  glove  to  be  mended,  telling  my  aunt, 
to  comfort  her,  that  he  was  slowly  gaining 
strength,  though  he  had  great  reason  to  com 
plain  of  his  appetite,  which,  indeed,  the  cook 
had,  also.  Sometimes  he  would  ask  her  if  she 
felt  like  riding  out  with  him  that  day,  for  he 
had  the  sun-set  and  the  sun-rise  to  manage, 
outside  of  the  Hall,  and  could  not  have 
neglected  his  drives  about  the  neighborhood, 
on  any  account.  She  fretted  that  his  obliga 
tions  were  so  heavy  that  he  must  brave  heat 
and  dust ;  and  then,  too,  though  he  did  not 
speak  of  it,  it  pained  him  to  be  from  her  side. 
She  wished  it  would  rain,  on  his  account. 
She  did  n't  feel  how  much  her  own  dry  hands 
and  cheeks  needed  a  moist  atmosphere.  "  If 
Mr.  Throckmorton  could  only  be  with  me 
more,"  she  said  ;  "  but  he  must  not  neglect  his 
duties,  and  I  must  not  complain.  I  am  so 


M  A  E  E  I  K  D  ,      N  O  T      M  A  T  E  I)  .  407 

much  weaker  than  he  ;  he  never  murmurs, 
and  it  is  very  hard  for  him." 

And  all  these  days,  so  dreary  to  me,  the 
cheeks  of  Rose  had  been  blooming  more  and 
more.  I  knew  what  was  the  cause  of  her 
happiness,  though  she  never  spoke  of  it. 
There  was  nothing  to  tell ;  she  had  told  me 
so  once,  and  I  made  no  further  inquiries.  1 
saw  little  of  Doctor  Stafford  Graham.  His 
smile  was  the  same,  when  we  met.  I  felt  that 
it  might  be  sweet  to  others,  but  it  had  lost  its 
power  over  me.  He  seemed  very  cold  — • 
haughty,  I  thought  sometimes.  Rosalie  said 
he  was  not  so.  Perhaps  he  was  not,  to 
her. 

One  morning  he  inquired  for  Mr.  Throck- 
morton,  instead  of  Rosalie,  and,  after  a  brief, 
and  wThat  seemed  formal  interview,  they  drank 
wine  together.  Uncle  Peter  then  called  Rosa 
lie,  and  kissed  her,,  and  she  and  her  lover 
walked  apart,  in  the  garden.  He  bent  softly 
toward  her,  and  spoke  with  a  tenderness 
which  her  gay  and  independent  nature  had 
never  seemed  to  me  to  demand.  Aunt  Sally, 
and  Mrs.  Furniss,  and  all,  now  talked  of 


408       MAKRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

Woodside  as  the  future  home  of  Rose,  and 
she  asked  me  what  the  style  of  her  wedding- 
dress  should  be,  having  never  said  there  was 
to  be  a  wedding ;  and  I  tried  to  smile  ;  for, 
though  she  was  lost  to  me,  she  was  not  lost  to 
herself. 

There  was  something  so  beautiful  in  the 
perfect  happiness  of  my  sister,  and  in  her 
confidence  that  it  would  last  always,  that  we 
all  felt  some  little  portion  of  her  blessedness. 
Old  Mr.  Fnrniss  actually  laughed,  once  or 
twice  ;  but  this  might  have  been  accounted 
for,  in  part,  by  the  fact  that  he  had  lately 
almost  renewed  himself,  in  his  happiness. 
The  cow  and  the  garden  gave  him  employ 
ment.  Even  Aunt  Sally  revived,  somewhat: 
her  own  blest  wedding-day  was  so  forcibly 
brought  to  her  mind. 

"You  will  be  well  enough  to  witness  the 
marriage,"  said  Uncle  Peter.  He  would  not 
listen  to  a  perhaps;  it  must  be  so.  And, 
having  laid  his  hand  on  a  dry  pine  table,  he 
received  an  impression  that  Mrs.  Throckmor- 
ton's  little  indisposition  was  solely  owing  to  a 
deficiency  of  will.  If  she  would  exert  a  little 


MAKE  i  ED,    NOT    MATED.         409 

will,  she  would  get  up  at  once.  In  fact,  slie 
was  up ;  she  did  n't  know  it,  that  was  all. 
Fro  ji  that  day,  she  blamed  herself  more  for 
being  ill  than  she  had  previously  done ;  all 
the  power,  all  the  will  she  had,  she  exerted,  to 
appear  better  than  she  was  ;  she  would  get  up 
and  sew  a  little,  when  Uncle  Peter  came  into 
the  room,  though  the  needle  often  fell  from 
her  fingers,  and  her  eyes  grew  blind. 

"Have  me  a  new  cap  made,"  she  said  to 
Mrs.  Furniss,  one  day,  "  and  let  it  be  just  like 
yours ;  just  that  style,  Mrs.  Furniss,  be  very 
particular  about  that." 

I  understood  that  this  was  designed  as  a  sort 
of  atonement  to  our  neighbor  for  Aunt  Sally's 
having  said  she  did  n't  like  the  fashion  of  her 
caps. 

The  old  wedding-dress  was  laid  on  the 
grass,  to  bleach  —  the  grass,  still  brown  and 
dry,  for  there  had  been  no  rain  —  and,  under 
the  supervision  of  Mrs.  Furniss  and  Uncle 
Peter,  the  preparations  for  the  wedding  went 
forward.  Every  day  my  aunt  said  she  was 
belter,  and  every  day  her  hand  grew  more 
transparent,  more  like  flexible  pearl.  She 
18 


410       MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

could  only  make  a  pretence  of  work  now,  but 
she  kept  her  basket  by  her,  that  my  uncle 
might  think  she  was  sometimes  busy.  "  How 
is  the  will  to-day,  Mrs.  Throckmorton?"  he 
would  ask,  and  she,  with  difficulty  repressing 
her  cough,  would  answer,  "  Thank  you,  Mr. 
Throckmorton;  I  am  better — I  shall  be 
dressed  by  "Wednesday."  This  was  the  day 
appointed  for  Rosalie's  marriage. 

Now  and  then  Mrs.  Furniss,  who  had  grown 
young  and  active  since  that  notable  exhibi 
tion  of  her  ingratitude  toward  the  master  of 
,he  Hall,  would  steal  away  to  Woodside,  to 
inquire  of  the  health  of  Mr.  Henry  Graham, 
about  which  she  felt  an  instinctive  alarm ;  and 
sometimes,  when  she  met  his  brother,  the 
doctor,  would  question  him  very  closely  on 
the  subject;  but  he  could  not  perceive  the 
least  occasion  for  uneasiness,  he  said ;  u  Henry 
lias  no  disease ;  he  seems  to  be  depressed, 
indifferent  to  everything,  that  is  all ;  if  he 
would  summon  back  a  little  courage,  he 
would  be  well  enough  in  a  fortnight."  But 
the  good  woman  had  been  the  nurse  of  the' 
neighborhood  too  long,  and  too  observant  of 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       411 

mortal  maladies,  to  be  very  sanguine,  even 
when  she  heard  that  Henry  Graham  was 
again  with  Nellie,  out  in  the  woods. 

"Wednesday  came,  and  was  almost  over. 
The  sun  had  set,  but  no  dew  fell  on  the 
parched  and  withered  grass,  and  the  stars 
winked  sultrily  through  the  dusty  haze.  My 
aunt's  white  dress,  scented  with  roses,  was 
brought  into  her  room,  and  she  said  she  was 

O  / 

well  enough  to  have  it  put  on.  She  sat 
feebly,  half-reclining,  on  the  sofa,  leaning  her 
burning  cheek  upon  her  thin,  pale  hand,  and 
as  we  adjusted  some  few  flowers  in  her  cap, 
she  said,  over  and  over,  "  Oh,  if  it  would  rain ! 
everything  is  so  dry  !" 

Hose  looked  very  beautiful.  A  day  in  the 
city,  with  my  uncle,  had  enabled  her  to  select 
a  costume  for  the  occasion  that  illustrated  the 
perfection  of  her  taste,  which,  in  everything 
connected  with  personal  appearance,  was 
intuitively  correct.  There  was  some  sadness 
in  all  our  hearts  for  Aunt  Sally's  illness,  but 
my  sister  was,  nevertheless,  filled  with  that 
still  and  almost  divine  happiness,  which,  in  the 
last  hours  before  a  longed-for  bridal,  if  ever 
in  human  life,  has  dominion  over  us. 


41 2        MARRIED,    N  OT    MATED. 

I  saw  her  when,  her  toilet  complete,  she 
came  into  my  aunt's  room,  and  kissed  her, 
with  tears  and  smiles  struggling  for  dominion 
over  her  sweet  face.  There  was  a  noise  and 
a  cloud  of  dust  at  the  gate.  I  held  her  hand 
a  moment  tight  in  mine ;  I  could  not  let  her 
go;  but  she  said,  tremblingly,  "He  has 
come !"  There  was  one  whose  claim  was 
greater  than  mine,  I  felt,  and  let  her  go,  and 
the  next  moment  her  blushes  were  hid  in  the 
bridegroom's  bosom.  "With  a  smile  that  said 
the  pride  and  power  of  manhood  were  strong 
beneath  it,  he  looked  down  upon  her,  and  put 
his  arm  about  her  waist,  and  between  her  and 
me. 

The  guests  came  in,  and  were  greeted  by 
Uncle  Peter  with  his  customary  phrase,  and 
more  than  his  customary  self-importance ;  the 
minister  came,  and  gossipped  of  the  last  ten 
years'  marriages  in  the  neighborhood;  and 
at  length  the  solemn  service  was  said,  and, 
"  forsaking  all  others,"  my  sister  was  the  wife 
of  Stafford  Graham. 

There  were  lights,  and  flowers,  and  guests 
pi  the  parlor,  and  Aunt  Sally  sat  upright  on 
the  sofa,  in  her  apartment,  lamps  burning 


MAKKIED,    NOT    MATED.       413 

about  her,  and  making  the  atmosphere  hotter 
and  dryer  than  before,  waiting  for  Uncle 
Peter  to  help  her.  She  could  not  walk  with 
out  him,  and  had  asked  for  him  till  she  was 
weary,  and  now  sat  quite  still. 

"  My  clear  Mrs.  Throckmorton,"  he  said,  at 
last,  appearing  at  the  door.  For  the  first  time 
she  did  not  answer  him.  He  had  not  come 
to  help  her  as  she  had  desired,  and  she  wras 
gone  alone.  Gone  where  her  thirst  was  satis 
fied  in  the  full  fountain  of  love. 

I  will  attempt  no  description  of  the  funeral. 
It  had  all  the  pomp  and  circumstance  which 
my  uncle  deemed  appropriate  for  the  obse 
quies  of  Mrs.  P.  I.  T.  Throckmorton.  *He 
sustained  the  office  of  chief  mourner  with 
an  evident  consciousness  of  the  dignity  with 
which  it  invested  him.  When  all  the  melan 
choly  rites  were  done,  and  all  the  incentives 
to  display  over,  he  must  have  felt  some  com 
punctious  visitings ;  but  the  world  about  him 
never  had  reason  to  suspect,  from  his 
demeanor,  that  he  did  not  doubt  whether  she 
were  a  gainer  in  being  removed  to  Paradise 
from  Throckmorton  Hall. 


4:14          M  A  K  R  I  K  D  ,      NOT      MATED. 

I  was  at  Woodside,  whither  I  had  been  pre 
ceded  by  my  sister  and  her  husband.  It  was 
the  morning  of  the  Sabbath,  and  the  leaves 
rattled,  for  there  was  a  little  wind  stirring 
now,  and  one  black,  heavy  cloud,  was  low  in 
the  west.  As  the  day  went  by,  the  wind 
strengthened,  and  occasional  gusts  swept 
through  the  grounds,  wailing  and  hurried,  and 
the  cloud  rose  and  widened  until  it  covered 
half  the  sky.  Little  Nellie,  looking  weary, 
but  patient  and  meek,  carried  the  baby  from 
room  to  room — now  where  the  elder  Mrs. 
Graham  sat,  in  the  midst  of  her  incongruous 
accumulations,  growling  discontent  as  the 
children  approached;  and  now  where  the 
mother,  pale  and  cold  as  a  marble  statue,  sat 
quietly  in  moody  and  hopeless  reveries. 
With  a  wave  of  the  hand  she  would  repel 
their  approach,  and,  then,  with  a  flushed 
countenance,  that  betrayed  her  sensitive 
nature,  Nellie  would  softly  close  the  door, 
lest  her  mother  should  be  disturbed,  and 
slowly  climb  the  stairs  to  the  highest  room  in 
the  house,  where  she  was  sure  of  a  welcome, 
for  there  lay  her  sick  father,  the  weaknesses 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       415 

of  whose  nature,  whatever  they  were,  all 
leaned  to  the  side  of  virtue,  and  invested  his 
affection  for  his  children  with  even  a  touching 
tenderness.  There  poor  Nellie  was  called  a 
dear  good  child;  her  worn-out  clothes  were 
pinned  together,  and  a  holiday  dress  promised 
her.  ]Sro  wonder  she  went  up  to  the  lone 
some  garret ;  but  the  baby,  puny  and  weak, 
grew  fretful  there,  and  her  visits  were  short 
ones. 

The  day  passed  along  till  near  the  evening, 
and  there  was  still  no  rain.  I  had  been  about 
the  garden  till  I  was  tired.  It  was  a  beauti 
ful  place,  to  be  sure,  for  Hemy  had  watered 
the  flowers,  and  kept  them  fresh  through  all 
the  drought.  At  the  foot  of  a  shady  slope  I 
had  been  sitting,  for  there  was  a  pool  of 
water,  with  lilies  undulating  on  its  surface. 
Over  the  margin  of  its  stony  basin  it  flowed 
away,  and  the  grass  was  green  where  it  went. 
Toward  night  I  gathered  some  flowers  that  grew 
there,  fragrant  and  dewy,  and  seeing  Nellie 
ascend  the  stairs  as  I  entered  the  house,  put 
them  in  her  hand,  a  present  for  her  father. 

"Come  with  me,"  she  said,  smiling,  and  I 


MARRIED,    NOT   MATED. 


followed  the  long,  dusty  way.  It  was  in  a 
most  cheerless-  looking  attic  that  he  lay,  color 
less  and  thin.  The  sunshine  had  poured  all 
day  on  the  roof.  The  curtainless  windows  were 
full  of  spiders,  working  busily  at  their  nets, 
which,  heavy  with  dust,  reached  along  from 
rafter  to  rafter.  The  mice  crossed  the  floor 
fearlessly,  and  a  pie,  with  a  fly-specked  crust, 
stood  on  a  chair  by  the  side  of  the  cot-bed 
whereon  the  miserable  invalid  lay,  and  next  to 
it  a  cup,  partly  filled  with  cold  coffee,  that  told 
something  of  the  neglect  he  suffered.  Accu 
mulations  of  old  clothes  were  here  and  there  in 
musty  and  moth-eaten  heaps,  making  unwhole 
some  the  hot  air  ;  and  the  floor  seemed  not  to 
have  been  in  contact  with  water  for  a  life 
time.  A  pile  of  curious  shells  and  stones, 
some  stuffed  birds,  abused  books,  and  a  broken 
violin,  were  in  one  corner.  They  had  been 
there,  he  said,  since  he  moved  up  stairs, 
though  how  long  that  had  been,  or  for  what. 
purpose  he  had  moved  up  stairs,  I  could  not 
guess.  The  last  winter's  blankets  and  cover 
lets,  and  sheets,  too,  apparently,  were  spread 
over  the  bed,  and  the  one  pillow  was  too 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       417 

small.  He  was  watching  the  flies  as  they 
struggled  in  the  spider-webs  overhead,  and  as 
he  turned  towards  us,  his  blue  and  sunken 
eyes  twinkled  with  something  like  pleasure. 
There  was  not  much  that  I  could  do  just  then. 
The  unsightly  pie  I  removed,  and  put  my 
flowers  in  its  place.  Jo,  at  my  request, 
brought  water,  and  while  I  bathed  the 
neglected  patient's  face  and  hands,  she  sprin 
kled  the  floor.  Clean  white  sheets  were 
brought,  and  fresh  pillows,  and  at  the  sunset 
Ife  said  he  was  better.  I  sat  down  by  the 
bedside ;  the  baby  was  placed  near  him,  and 
with  his  hand  on  its  head  he  listened,  while 
I  expressed  the  regrets  felt  that  he  had 
been  unable  to  attend  the  marriage  of  Rosa 
lie,  and  my  anticipations  of  happiness  in 
residing  with  her  at  Woodside,  and  told  some 
thing  of  the  plans  we  had  already  thought 
of  for  rendering  the  house  itself  as  cheerful 
as  his  taste  and  industry  had  made  all  the 
grounds  around  it.  His  eyes  brightened,  and 
a  new  interest  beamed  in  them.  Everything 
had  been  neglected,  he  said,  since  he  was  ill; 
but  I  assured  him  the  flowers  were  as  fresh 
18* 


4:18       MARRIED,    NOT   MATED. 

about  the  fountain  as  if  his  training  hand  had 
been  over  them  that  very  hour.  The  enthu 
siasm  of  his  nature  was  awakened,  and  Nellie 
could  not  help  saying,  "  Oh,  father,  how  much 
better  you  are !" 

He  smiled  upon  her,  and  said,  "  Go,  my 
dear,  and  see  if  your  mother  will  not  come 
and  see  me  a  few  moments,  and  tell  her  our 
new  sister  is  here."  The  answer  with  which 
the  child  soon  returned,  that  the  mother  did 
not  feel  like  coming,  brought  back  the  air  of 
melancholy  depression  from  which  he  had 
been  aroused,  but  after  a  moment  he  said, 
abruptly,  u  I  wish  Stafford  would  come  up  ;" 
and  Nellie  flew  to  find  him.  Her  uncle  was 
drinking  tea  with  Aunt  Rosalie;  he  would 
come  presently ;  and  the  promise  was  a  new 
inspiration.  But  we  waited  a  long  time ; 
waited  an  hour;  and  Dr.  Graham  did  not 
come  ;  and,  then,  softened  as  a  tender-hearted 
boy  might  be  by  an  unkind  surprise,  his  eyes 
filled  with  tears,  until,  partially  recalling  the 
little  energy  of  his  nature,  he  remarked  to  me, 
"You  are  so  nearly  one  of  us,  now,  and 
your  relation  to  the  family  seems  so  natural 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       419 

and  settled,  that  I  may  tell  you  why  I  was 
anxious  to  see  Stafford.  He  will  not  trouble 
himself  to  come  up  to  this  gloomy  place  to 
see  me  to-night,  and  I  have  a  presentiment 
that  when  he  does  come  it  will  be  too  late  for 
all  I  should  have  it  in  iny  heart  to  say,  if  he 
were  here.  We  have  held  this  property  of 
Woodside  together.  We  have  not  agreed, 
nor  yet  agreed  to  disagree.  I  have  worked 
hard,  but  have  not  fared  so  well  as  he.  All 
has  been  wrong,  in  someway,  and  I  have  been 
thinking  we  might  arrange  it  for  our  mutual 
benefit.  I  want  to  give  him  all  that  he  can 
ask ;  submit  my  will  in  everything  to  his ; 
and,  by  removing  causes  of  distrust,  see  if  lib 
cannot  be  won  to  a  more  fraternal  regard  for 
me — see  if  we  cannot  really  be  brothers.  His 
marriage  furnishes  a  suitable  occasion  for  such 
a  settlement  of  our  business.  He  would  not, 
I  think,  be  ungenerous ;  for  myself,  I  shall 
have  little  use  for  anything  any  more ;  but  the 
claims  of  these  dear  children,  and — and — all 
the  claims  that  can  exist  through  me,  I  would, 
to-day,  submit  unreservedly  to  his  decision — 
and  compel  him  to  feel,  while  I  remain  in  the 


£20        MARKIED,    NOT    MATED. 

world,  some  affection  for  me.  You  see,  how 
ever,  that  he  has  forgotten  me." 

"  He  has  just  gone  into  a  new  world,  you 
know,"  I  said,  uso  it  is  no  wonder  he  forgets 
the  old  ;  but  I  will  find  him ;"  and  I  descended 
in  search  of  Stafford. 

"  A  new  world,"  I  heard  him  say ;  "  who 
can  tell  what  such  worlds  may  be  !"  I  went 
from  room  to  room,  searching  for  the  brother, 
but  he  was  nowhere  to  be  found,  and  extended 
my  inquisition  to  the  garden,  and  up  and 
down  the  various  walks,  and  into  the  beauti 
ful  arbor,  where  the  harvest  flowers  still  were 
fair,  despite  the  weeks  of  dry  heat,  which  had 
made  deserts  of  the  open  fields.  It  was  true 
that  Henry  feared;  he  had  been  quite  forgot 
ten  ;  but  Stafford  would  go  now,  with  Rosalie, 
and  he  inquired  if  I  proposed  returning  again 
to  see  "  the  attic  philosopher."  I  wanted 
only  to  gather  a  fresh  bouquet,  and  as  I  did 
so,  a  slight  sound,  like  a  distant  footstep, 
arrested  my  attention,  and  looking  down  the 
elope,  I  thought  I  saw  a  human  figure  moving 
along.  The  cloud  was  rapidly  coming  up  the 
sky,  and  the  wind  blowing.  It  was,  in  part, 


MAURIS,    NOT    MATED.        421 

the  noise  of  the  dry  leaves,  and  the  rest  fancy, 
I  concluded,  and,  with  my  flowers,  returned  to 
the  house.  Up  and  up  we  went,  to  the  garret, 
and  as  I  opened  the  door,  the  wind  blew  out 
my  lamp. 

"Well,  Henry,"  said  Stafford,  going  close 
to  the  bed,  "you  must  forgive  me,"  and  he 
reached  out  his  hand,  but  none  was  extended 
to  meet  it.  "  Get  a  light,"  he  said,  passing 
his  hand  hurriedly  and  alarmedly  along  the 
bed.  The  light  was  brought,  and  there  lay 
the  baby  fast  asleep,  and  there  sat  little 
Nellie,  her  head  on  the  bedside,  and  fast 
asleep  too.  "  Father  is  better,"  she  had  said, 
and  had  yielded  to  Nature's  sweet  restorer, 
with t an  unwonted  look  of  pleasure  beaming 
all  over  her  face. 

Stafford  bent,  with  the  lamp  in  his  hand, 
over  the  uncomfortable  bed,  and  then  moved, 
with  an  expression  of  anxiety,  touched  with 
remorse,  along  the  garret,  saying,  "  It  is  not 
strange  that  he  is  ill  ;  these  things  must  be 
changed  ;"  and  to  his  accusing  conscience, 
"I  never  dreamed  he  was  so  badly  cared  for." 
And  Rose  said,  "  Oh,  we  have  been  so  happy, 


4:22         MARRIED,    NOT    MATED. 

arid  your  brother  here !  it  shall  not  hereafter 
be  so."  We  have  been  selfish  in  our  joy; 
come,  I  will  find  him ;"  and,  directed  by  her 
heart,  she  went  to  the  parlor  of  Annette. 
"He  has  not  been  here;  pray  do  n't  disturb 
me,''  was  all  the  answer  here  given  to  her 
inquiries,  and  thence  she  proceeded  from 
room  to  room  ;  and  all  this  time  there  had 
been  an  awful  fear  upon  my  heart,  that  I 
dared  not  speak;  but  when  I  saw  the  face  of 
Stafford  grow  white,  I  said,  I  thought,  as  I 
gathered  the  flowers,  I  had  seen  some  one  in 
the  garden. 

The  cloud  had  spread  all  over  the  sky  now, 
and  the  slow  rain  was  falling.  With  lanterns 
we  went  out,  all  together.  ]STo  one  spoke,  but, 
by  one  instinct,  we  sought  the  pool  at  the 
foot  of  the  grounds.  The  water  was  shallow, 
scarce  two  feet  deep,  so  that  when  our  lights 
were  lowered  to  its  surface,  we  could  see  all 
it  contained.  The  knowledge  I  had  of  the 
poor  man's  temper  and  melancholy  life,  had 
brought  a  fear  that  forbade  surprise.  In  the 
last  struggle  he  had  reached  one  hand  up 
through  the  lilies,  as  though  there  was  some- 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.       423 

tiling  in  the  world  to  take  hold  of  yet,  and  the 
fingers  had  stiffened  about  a  stone. 

When,  afterward,  I  told  Stafford  of  the 
generous  purposes  for  which  Henry  would 
have  seen  him  that  fatal  night,  his  heart  was 
softened,  and  he  even  shed  tears. 

The  days  brightened  ere  long,  and  gaiety 
came  to  Woodside,  with  the  hope  of  prospe 
rous  years.  I  cannot  yet  read  clearly  the  des 
tinies  of  Stafford  and  Kosalie,  but  the  signs 
are  propitious,  and  if  they  are  not  mated  as 
well  as  married,  why  it  is  fortunate  that 
neither  is  so  constituted  as  to  die  of  a  broken 
heart. 

Mrs.  Annette  Graham  is  slowly  recovering, 
and  proposes  making  a  long  journey,  in  com 
pany  with  her  mother-in-law,  for  the  complete 
restoration  of  her  health,  and  the  dissipation 
of  her  grief.  Whether  that  venerable  dame 
will  leave  her  den,  is,  however,  somewhat 
doubtful ;  but  Woodside  is  less  agreeable  to 
her  than  formerly;  she  feels  that  her  dominion 
there  is  broken  for  ever;  and  Hose  indulges 
the  pleasant  dream,  not  only  of  her  under 
taking  the  journey  with  Annette,  but  that  she 


4:24      MARKIED,    NOT    MATED. 

I 

may  make  up  her  mind  to  pass  the  remainder 
of  her  life  with  a  dear,  distant  relative,  of 
whom  she  talks  a  great  deal. 

Mrs.  Furniss  spreads  her  table  for  two,  and 
finds  pleasure  in  the  addition  to  her  house 
keeping  cares.  Her  husband  rents  advanta 
geously  his  property  in  town,  makes  the  cot 
tage  his  home,  and  declares  that  seeing  to  the 
cow  and  the  garden  is  just  what  is  necessary 
for  his  health.  Rachel  says  she  shall  not  rest 
till  grandmam  and  Annette  have  "  cleared 
out,"  nor  then,  unless  she  believes  "  that  '11  be 
the  last  we  shall  hear  of  'em,"  and  when  she 
sees  the  handsome  monument  which  has 
already  been  placed  above  the  remains  of 
Henry,  she  places  her  arms  akimbo,  and  con 
fesses  her  belief  that  "Jordan  is  a  hard  road 
to  travel." 

The  last  time  I  saw  Uncle  Peter,  he  had 
his  hand  on  a  pine  table,  in  the  hope  of 
receiving  "a  communication"  from  poor 
Aunt  Sally,  whose  shade  he  entreated  more 
tenderly  than  I  ever  knew  her  living  self  to 
be.  He  had  just  received,  he  told  me,  an 
"  impression,"  through  the  dear  deceased, 


MARRIED,    NOT    MATED.         425 

that  Gabriel  would  thenceforth  abide  at 
Throckmorton  Hall,  and  that  he  himself  should 
become  his  "  medium." 

So  my  characters  are  all  disposed  of,  as 
well,  perhaps,  as  their  respective  qualities, 
and  the  average  chances  of  the  world,  admit 
ted,  and  yet  how  different  their  histories 
might  have  been,  if  all  parties  had  been 
MATED,  as  well  as  MARRIED  1 


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